


Monsters and Angels

by BJackson



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Gen, Halloween, Horror, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm on Halloween sends Al once again on a leap with Sam, a leap involving werewolves, ghosts, and vampires. Sam isn't convinced any of it is real, but both he and Al are a little different this leap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story briefly references my previous fic, Two Leapers and a Baby, but you don't need to read it to understand this one. Thanks so much to ThePrinceOfPirates for allowing me to use his initial prompt for this! Feedback is appreciated!

 

    "You did it, Sam!" Al cheered, clutching the handlink to him like a good luck charm, "Sunny Side Retirement Home stays put, and a resident is never kicked out again. Oh, and get this--Your host Nathan? He lives to be _103_! Can you believe it?" He leaned in victoriously toward Sam, who celebrated with his fellow retirees. Nearby, a royally ticked off developer angrily stomped his feet and threw down his useless contract. 

    "That's great, Al!" exclaimed an elated Sam, mid-hug with one of the residents. 

    "Who?" the old woman asked. 

    "Never mind."

    Al nodded assuredly and clasped his hands in front of him, bouncing on his heels. "Get ready to leap, kid."

    "You're _some_ man, Nathan!" Before Sam had a chance to react, the woman before him had planted a kiss square on his lips. As he was jolted with surprise, a shower of blue light engulfed him and Sam Beckett was off to the next destination.

    Which, as it turns out, smelled a whole lot like garbage. 

    A huge waft of something rotten collided with Sam's senses, and he had to physically recoil. Not that he had anywhere to go, because he was standing in a dumpster. Consequently, his quick action was responded to by a terrified cat, who pounced out of the trash and onto his chest.

    "GAH!" _Splat!_ Sam fell onto his backside, and the cat zipped down the alley and disappeared forever. "Ah....ahhhh!" Scrunching his face in disgust, Sam wiped something with an inexplicable texture from his hand and onto a dirty paper bag. His hand still felt slimy."Oh boy..."

    There had better be a good reason why he was sitting in a dumpster, Sam thought as his patience began to wear thin. Maybe he was a garbage man. Looking down expecting to see a uniform, he instead saw a stained gray hoodie, a threadbare red shirt, and a pair of jeans torn at the knees. On his feet were a pair of worn red Converse, looking far too used for anyone to be walking on at this point.  A woman popped up over the edge next to him. 

    "Find anything good, Danny?" she asked, licking her lips. She was maybe in her 50s, with messy gray hair, her face lined beyond her age. Her clothes were in worse shape than Sam's. But there was a friendly warmth that seemed to come from within her.

    "Uh...not, um, not yet," Sam stammered, "What...what am I looking for?" 

    "What are you talking about? You feeling alright?" Concerned, the woman placed a hand on his forehead. "You didn't catch anything, did you?"

    "I'm fine, I'm just...hungry, is all," Sam said, just realizing this. His stomach complained loudly at him, and he wondered if it was his or Danny's doing.

    "Well then you'd better find something in there quick," said the woman, pointing at the dumpster, "The soup kitchen isn't open 'til tomorrow."

    "I-In here?" Disgusted, Sam glanced down at the trash and considered if there was anything that seemed less appetizing to him. "Uh...I'll tell you what, why don't we go somewhere?" he tried, "This one's on me. What do you say?"

    A pause. The woman's face split with a toothy grin and she cackled. "That's a good one! It's nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." She clapped him on the back, shook her head, and stepped away. "Hey, I'm going to check the dumpster a couple blocks over. You get anything good, you know where to find me." And with that, she was gone. 

    It wasn't _that_ funny. Checking his pockets, Sam couldn't even find a wallet, much less any sort of cash, confirming his suspicion that Danny was homeless. Still, he'd hoped briefly that he was wrong, and _this_ wouldn't be his latest meal. Ugh. 

    Gulping, he put his hands back into the trash and began his search. He hoped Al would show up soon.

\-------

    "Va-va-voom!" admired Al with the quirk of an eyebrow. Tina shut them inside the spacious storage closet as his eyes drifted over every one of her curves. She was shapely in all the right places, hugged tightly in a black corset and a skirt slit all the way up to her hip. Curly red hair cascaded over her shoulders from underneath a pointed black hat. "So..." Al said teasingly with lowered eyes, "Are you a _good_ witch...or a _bad_ witch?" 

    Two weeks had gone by since Sam's latest venture, and tonight was Halloween. The Project had been decked out with pumpkins, skeletons, zombies, and ghouls, but Al had insisted nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , should have a black cat on it. It was bad luck, after all. But the Project was used to it, because this was his ritual every Halloween, and so they worked around his superstitious quirks to put on their annual Halloween Bash. Rather serendipitously, the biggest storm they'd had in a long time raged outside, pelting the Project with rain and adding to the spooky atmosphere. 

    Al, he didn't care for Halloween. As a firm believer in creepy crawlies, he found celebrating ghosts and goblins to be too much of a tempt of fate. As far as he was concerned, the otherworldly should be left well enough alone. 

    He could never hate Halloween, though. He couldn't hate it for the same reason he loved every other holiday: the sex. Boy, holiday sex was the best. And Halloween couldn't come a moment too soon, because it ended his and Tina's latest "off" phase. He couldn't remember what had broken them up this time. Probably something stupid involving coding, or whatever. Tina hated when he added "or whatever" to that.

    In contrast to Al, Tina loved Halloween. As the proud owner of a crocodile and several other reptiles Al had had the displeasure of meeting, she was more accepting of strange and dangerous creatures. But at the end of the day, the real truth was that she just liked having an excuse to dress up in revealing costumes. Not that she needed an excuse to wear them in the bedroom, to Al's pleasure. 

    "I'm a _bad_ witch..." she cooed, twirling her skirt in her hands, "but maybe you could, like, teach me how to be good..."

    Al's hands slid around her waist, and he yanked her forward, causing her to shriek in delight. "Now why would I wanna do that...?" he whispered into her neck, brushing his lips against her skin. She gave a high-pitched giggle. 

    "Why, _Admiral Calavicci_..." she playfully scolded him. God, he loved it when she called him Admiral. As their lips interlocked, his hands began to explore more intimate places.

    "Admiral Calavicci," came a different sultry voice.

    Uh-oh. This wasn't sexy time "Admiral." This was work "Admiral." Maybe if he ignored her she would go away. Moving their two bodies as one, Al skirted over to the light switch and flipped it off.

    "Oh, Al!" Tina squealed. 

    " _Ahem_. I know you're in here, Admiral. As I'm sure you're aware, I don't require lights to see."

    Damn it. He thought he and Ziggy had come to an agreement not to interrupt him when he was sticking his banana in the fruit salad. Well, he'd gotten her to stop _recording_ it, at the very least. With a long-suffering sigh, he extricated himself from a giggly Tina and turned the light back on. "What is it, Zig? I thought we had a little talk about _inappropriate conduct_ in the workplace?" 

    "Yes, Admiral," Ziggy agreed, almost entirely patronizing, "and the irony of your statement is not lost on me. However, if I remember correctly, and I do, your rule to inform you as soon as Dr. Beckett leaps supersedes all other orders. Those were your words, Admiral."

    Al directed his attention toward the ceiling with renewed interest. "Sam leaped?"

    "That's what I just said."

    "You have impeccable timing, Sam," Al groused, then turned back to Tina apologetically. "Sorry, babe. I've got work to do."

    "I'll see you in the Control Room," she replied with a wink. With one last kiss, Al was out the door and on his way to the Waiting Room to see their newest guest. With any luck, he could get his “little admiral” to stand down before he got there. 

\-------

    One half-eaten garbage sandwich later, Sam was feeling pretty lousy, but at least he wasn't as hungry as he was before. Although he still didn't know her name, he'd passed the time waiting for Al by chatting with the woman he'd met at the start of the leap. She had a loud, boisterous personality, which meant she carried most of the conversation, which was fine by him. She seemed like the type of person who liked people, who had a sincere interest in what was going on in their lives. By the end of their talk, Sam had learned the names of everyone on the street other than the woman herself. Apparently she'd promised to meet with a friend named Violet, so she bid Sam farewell and left him alone. 

   At least he didn't have to worry about finding out where he lived. He considered following his new friend; maybe she was the reason he leaped in. 

    "Yuck! Oh, Sam, you _have_ to see this!" 

    A startled Sam whipped around to see Al inspecting the dumpster. "Al!"

    "Do you have any idea how much of this stuff can be recycled?" Al grumbled in disgust, motioning toward the offending items, "Plastics here, bottles over there--all going to waste! What's this planet coming to?" He shook his head to clear his boggled mind. “Sam, those bottles are still sitting in a dump in _my_ time!”

    "Al, never mind that. I'm homeless!"

    "You figured that out, huh?" Al asked nonchalantly, sparing a glance at Sam's sad wardrobe as he took the handlink out of his orange suit jacket. Ignoring Sam's resentful look, he placed a cigar to his lips and punched in some keys. "It's November 10th, 1988, and your name is Danny Price. Uh, you're 22 years old, no family, and you've been living on the street for about a year and half now. Danny ran into a bit of bad luck when he lost his job at a packing facility, and he hasn't been able to get a job since."

    "He's so young..."

    "Unfortunately, a lot of young people end up on the streets," Al said, all too experienced since his days running away from the orphanage, "They run away from home, or don't have a support system, and they have to take care of themselves.” He tugged at the handlink, as if to rip it in half, and added, “But kids are resilient. They take whatever comes their way."

    Sam nodded. "What happens to Danny?"

    Al read the handlink and shook his head. "No data. The last thing we could find on him was his employment at Evergreen Packing; after that he just disappears." He scratched absentmindedly at his ear. "Ziggy's looking into it, but details about the homeless can be kind of sketchy. Sorry, Sam."

    That was worrying. "So that means he never gets off the streets," Sam concluded, "Is that what I'm here to do; help Danny get a job?"

    "We don't know yet."

    Sam pursed his lips in frustration. Sometimes having connections in the future was an absolutely useless asset. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I've already had to dig my breakfast out of there," he pointed at the dumpster, "and I'd rather not have to repeat myself for lunch and dinner!" 

    "You ate out of the garbage? Dis-gusting!" Al yelled unhelpfully, turning away.

    "Al, I'm serious. What do homeless people do?" Sam wasn't sure he had much experience with the homeless, his latest friend not included. If he did, he'd swiss-cheesed it. 

    "What do you mean, what do they 'do'? They're people, Sam; there's no guide to being homeless." As Al was finishing his sentence, he jumped fearfully at something, but Sam couldn't see whatever it was he was reacting to.

    "What's wrong?" he asked as Al looked up at something.

    "Oh, uh, nothing," Al assured him, rolling his shoulders, "Just a storm outside. Spooked me a little. Jeez, it's really pounding out there." He tilted his head to listen to the muted sounds of rain and thunder, his mouth turning downward. "You know, Sam, it's Halloween here, and it's bad luck for it to storm on Halloween..."

    "You think it's bad luck for it to be _fall_ on Halloween," Sam commented as he rolled his eyes. Al could be so unbelievable sometimes. 

    "Ha ha," Al huffed, jabbing his cigar at him, "Make fun of me all you want, but lots of scary, bone-rattling stuff happens on Halloween. That's when all the _weirdos_ come out." 

    Sam let out a mocking gasp. "And those weirdos made it rain! It all makes too much sense!"

    Al squinted one eye at him and blew out a puff of smoke. "It's easy for you to joke; it's already November when you are! Mark my words, Sam, nothing good can come of--"

    Suddenly, Sam was blinded as Al's entire figure lit up hot white. In an instant, he was gone. 

    "Al!"

\-------

    "--tempting the devil!"

    A stunned silence. Al stood, mouth agape, his finger pointed at a confused crowd of people. What the holy hell? A minute ago, he'd been talking to Sam, then there was a lightning strike, and now he was...

    He looked down. He was dressed in an all-black suit, standing at a pulpit, a Bible open in front of him. Terror creeping up on him, he reached up and felt a collar around his neck. No. Oh no. Sweet lord, no.

    Someone leaned in quietly behind him. "Father?"

    "Holy shit!"

    There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Wide-eyed, Al attempted to get his bearings. Okay, so he'd leaped. Into the worst place he could imagine. No big deal. No big, stinkin', end-of-the-world, vomit-and-then-die, deal. 

    "Father, are you okay?" 

    Al glanced behind him. Another worried priest stared at him.

    "Uhhhh...what I meant to say, was, uhhh..." Al cleared his throat nervously. The microphone in front of him reverberated some feedback. "Holy...is the Lord, the big guy in the sky…like a big pizza pie. He, uh, watches over us, uh...sometimes, and, uh...that's...good. Good guy. The Lord. Amen. Church dismissed."

    "But Father--"

    "That'll be all. Thanks!" 

    A pew creaked. The crowd slowly, awkwardly began to get up and exit, and Al let his head fall onto the pulpit. The priest behind him placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him quietly. "Russell?"

    "Huh?" Al looked up. "Oh, uh, that's me..." 

    "Is everything alright? What happened?"

    "Well to tell you the truth, uh..." He didn't know this guy's name, so he wasn't sure why he was searching for it. He went on. "To tell you the truth, I'm not feeling entirely myself today."

    "This isn't one of your episodes, is it?"

    "Episodes?"

    The other priest seemed a bit uncomfortable. "Because...because of the war, I mean."

    Al stiffened. Vietnam. What year was it? God, this was not the time to relive that part of his life. It was never the time. That needed to remain buried where it belonged, so Al straightened himself out and forced himself to look calm. As long as his hysteric, racing mind stayed under the surface, he wouldn't blow this leap before it even started. 

    “No, I'm okay now," he assured the other man, "Uh, thanks for checking."

    The other man nodded and smiled. "Alright. Just making sure."

\-------

    Smiling like the phony he was, Al shook the hands of the churchgoers as they left the building, commenting on his "interesting" sermon today. Not to toot his own horn, but he thought he was selling it pretty damn well. Darn. 

    For all of his early life, up until he left the orphanage, he was raised a Catholic, but by now that was deep in his past. His relationship with the church was...complicated. Not so very long ago, he would call it hate, but Sam had helped him rekindle some sort of hope in a higher power. Something, or Someone, had decided to send Sam--and now him apparently--through time to right wrongs. But it was a cruel Someone, for there were many wrongs in Al's life that he felt needed correcting. The fact they happened in the first place was a testament to the imperfection of this system. In other words, he and God might be on speaking terms again, but that didn't mean he still didn't have a bone to pick. 

    So why in the world God, Time, Fate, or Whatever had deigned to leap him into a priest was anybody's guess. It was the equivalent of having a manic depressive leap into a clown.

    As he was projecting to the world that everything was fine and dandy, his eye caught on a stunning woman standing in the road in front of the church. He might be a priest, but his mind was thinking far from holy thoughts. In fact...his mind was going places that surprised even himself.

    The woman was in her late 20s, with long, chestnut brown hair in curls down to her shoulders. There was no way she'd come from the congregation, because that outfit was...definitely not Sunday school material. An acid wash crop top hovered just above her navel, and a black pleather mini-skirt covered a pair of pink tights, which lead down her toned legs to her spiked, silver boots. As Al fantasized about removing this outfit, something else penetrated the periphery of his senses.

    Almost as if he was aware of it before it was coming, Al knew a car was heading straight toward this woman. But he was too far away to do anything, so instead he tried to shout a warning.

    "Hey, look out!" 

    The woman didn't even try to get out of the way, and the car went straight through her. 

    Literally, straight through her. It phased through her body, as if she didn't exist. Al's jaw dropped.

    Was she from the Project? She had to be a hologram then, and maybe Al had just swiss-cheesed her. But she sure as hell didn't look like no scientist, engineer, or Navy personnel. Then again, when he was himself, neither did he. 

    "Who were you talking to?" asked the woman in front of him, looking at the street in confusion. 

    "Uh...I thought I saw someone I knew. Excuse me." 

    Al parted with the crowd and made his way over to the mystery hologram. 

    "It's about time you showed up!" he whispered in irritation. The woman jumped and gasped, clutching her chest. She glanced around her and then back at him.

    "Who, me?" she asked.

    "No, the hologram behind you," Al answered sarcastically, "Let's go somewhere more private and we'll talk." Jerking his head forward, he headed for the back of the church.

    Just his luck. He leaps and forgets who his hologram is. Not that he wouldn't mind getting to know her, because that body...that was worth knowing a second time. 

    "We need to have a serious talk about making the Imaging Chamber lightning-proof!" Al complained as he stomped around back, "I'll accept that the first time was a fluke, but this is getting ridiculous! Look at me; I'm not meant to be a leaper!" He spun around to face his attractive Observer. 

    The woman's mouth hung open dumbly, exposing a big, pink wad of bubblegum. "So you really can see me?"

    Sharp as a tack, this one. "Of course I can see you. Nice to see they fixed those tuning issues, by the way; you're coming in nice and clear. Uh...whoever you are." He waited for her to fill in the blanks.

    The woman gave an apologetic grin. "Father, forgive me, but I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." Al frowned as she squinted and began to walk in a circle to study him excitedly, "This is unreal! Who are you? Howsit you can see me?"

    Now Al was very lost. If he had swiss cheesed something that would make sense of this lady, he couldn't begin to fathom what it was. "What do you mean, who am I? Who are you? Aren't you from the Project?"

    The woman stopped and put a hand on her hip in annoyance. "Do I look like I'm from the projects? What does that have to do with anything?"

    She couldn't be real. Al's face became lined with frustration. "What are you, an idiot? Project Quantum Leap!"

    "Wazzat, some sort of after school program?"

    Al was nonplussed. Either she was incredibly dense, or she really had no idea what he was talking about. She reminded him a bit of someone he knew but couldn't quite place: gorgeous, a strange, borderline annoying tone of voice, ditzy personality...only without the smarts to back it up. He was at a loss for words.

    He needn't say anything, because the kooky woman's features melted in remorse. "Oh, I'm sorry, Father! I don't mean any disrespect, it's just...I haven't been able to talk to someone like you in a long time! Like, normally I'm really great with people, trust me. My name is Vanessa, Vanessa Tafani." She held out her hand, remembered her intangibility, and then giggled. "Oh, whoops!"

    Eyes slit with suspicion, Al questioned, "If you aren't from PQL, then who are you with?" They'd encountered other leapers in the past, and it never ended well. If she was with them, he'd need to play his cards close to his chest. Then again...he wouldn't be able to see her if she wasn't tuned into his neurons and mesons, right?

    Vanessa giggled and fanned herself. "That's a bit of a personal question, don't you think? I, um, thought you holy men were supposed to stay away from girls?"

    "I mean," Al started impatiently, "who do you work for?" He didn't have time for games. Something about this woman was really rubbing him the wrong way. It didn't matter how luscious she looked. 

    "Well I _used_ to work at Ruby's Hair Salon," Vanessa said, fussing with her hairdo, "It's just a few blocks down the road, actually! They don't usually do men, but if you ask for Crystal, she gives this _bitchin'_ shampoo--"

    "Whoa whoa whoa, hang on!" Al cut her off and raised his hands, "You're from here--now? What kind of hologram are you?"

    Vanessa rolled her eyes and laughed. "Hologram? Whazzat, like a candy gram? I don't do that anymore, Father! Not since I was 15, but that was just, like a summer job, and..."

    She began to babble on about something else, but Al tuned it out as he froze. If this was some sort of sick joke on the part of the Project, it wasn't very funny. But something...something told him she was telling the truth. And that had him quaking in his boots. Metaphorically speaking. "But...I saw that car drive right through you."

    Vanessa stopped her lengthy story and blinked. "Well _duh_ ," she replied, as if it were obvious, "I'm dead!"

    For a moment, Al was rooted to the spot, unable to register what he just heard. But then...he noticed Vanessa's pale complexion, her slight...offness. And then he saw, just peeking out from under her shirt, a large wound seeping with blood. 

    Al blinked. Vanessa blinked. Al stuck out a cautious hand, and it phased through Vanessa's arm. As soon as it went through her, he felt this unearthly chill spread through his hand and into the rest of his body, like nothing he'd ever felt before. This...was an honest to god dead woman. Speaking to him.

     Well. It was time to call upon his Naval training and calmly, rationally, remove himself from the situation to reassess.

    "AAAHHH!!!"

    Apparition and dignity behind him, Al raced into the church in two seconds flat. Much like a cartoon, a cloud of dust could have been left in his wake. The church was empty to his relief, so he was able to lean against the wall and attempt to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. 

    Without skipping a beat, Vanessa stepped through the wall beside him. "Hey, where are you going? I need to talk to you!"

    "AHH!" Al might have jumped six feet in the air at this point. He backed away down the middle of the pews, keeping his face toward his enemy. "D-Don't come any c-closer! S-Stay away!"

    "Well _that's_ accepting of you!" Vanessa huffed, hands on her hips, "You didn't have a problem with me before!"

    "Th-That was bef-fore I knew you were a...a...a gh-ghost!" Al stammered out. He had enough difficulty dealing with dead people without one trying to talk to him. Oh, he didn't mix with spooky, not one bit. Not one single, tiny bit. He wanted to mess with spirits about as much as he wanted to swallow glass.

    "You're one to talk! Who's the real weirdo here, huh? You were the one bringing up telegrams! Who uses telegrams anymore?"

    If there was ever a time to believe in the Holy Spirit, it was now. Al grabbed the Bible off the pulpit, clutched it to his chest, and brandished a crucifix like a weapon. "Back, evil she-spawn! Go back to the hell f-f-from whence you came!" He might have heard that in a movie once. He hoped it was convincing. Yet he couldn't prevent the stutter, because when he was dealing with things of the unnatural variety, he lost all ability to speak coherently. 

    "Who are you calling evil?" Vanessa gasped, offended, "Wazzat supposed to do, ward me off? I might be dead, but I'm still a person! I thought priests were supposed to be forgiving!" 

    "W-Well I've got news for you, lady; I'm no priest!"

    "Admiral Calavicci!" 

    "AHH!" At this point, Al was liable to have a heart attack. He might have had one already. He flipped around to see another ghastly apparition: Gooshie, dressed in a dog suit, his entire image tinted purple. Al screamed again and held out the crucifix.

    "Whoa! Admiral, it’s me! Gooshie!"

    Catching his breath and lowering the crucifix, Al really got a good look at him. "Gooshie? D-Do you see a girl over--" He glanced over his shoulder, but Vanessa was gone. 

    "A girl, Admiral?"

    "Uh...never mind." He closed his eyes in relief and fell shakily onto a pew. The how and why of what he'd just witnessed could come later, because another question had shot to the top of Al's list. "Gooshie, why...why are you purple?"

    "Oh, am I?" Gooshie looked down at himself curiously. A quick tinker with the handlink and most of the tint went away. He flickered for a moment. "There we are! No offense, but it's not exactly easy to tune into your brainwaves. Er, we managed to fix the problem getting a visual signal to you, but obviously we still have a few bugs to work out in the system. There might be one or two errors in the signal, but...at least you can see me!"

    "You're a dog."

    "Yes, Admiral," Gooshie agreed politely.

    "Is there any particular reason why you're a dog?"

    "Hm? Oh! It's still Halloween here! This is my costume!" Gooshie explained with a good-natured grin. Was it Halloween when he'd leaped? Damn it, of course it was. When else would it be? All Al could remember was the lightning. Speaking of which...

    "Hey, why isn't Sam my Observer?" Al asked, "Didn't the lightning swap us again?"

    Looking as if he'd been itching to deliver this news, Gooshie shook his head and said excitedly, "No, Admiral. Dr. Beckett's in 1988 with you!"

    "Sam's here?" Almost as if Al's literal near-death experience hadn't just happened, his spirits lifted. No pun intended. He'd have an opportunity to physically see Sam...It was a pleasure he hadn't had in a very long time. His elation was palpable as he jumped to his feet. "Where? I've gotta see him!"

    "Don't you want to know about who you leaped into?"

    "What?" Oh yeah. He'd time-traveled. He supposed he should know what he was doing here. "Oh. Go ahead, but hurry it up."

    Chipper, Gooshie lifted the handlink in one of his paws and read the relevant information. How he managed to press those tiny buttons with those huge mitts, Al wasn't sure. "You're Russell Gray, age 38, and you've been a priest for 15 years. Russell decided to turn to the priesthood after returning from Vietnam."

    Yep. Vietnam. The nightmare that just wouldn't go away.

    "I talked to Russell in the Waiting Room," Gooshie continued, "Really nice fellow! A-At first he was very jumpy, and then he, heh, he thought he was in Heaven! But...he smelled my breath, and I think he knew he was still alive."

    "Did you have the dog suit on?"

    Gooshie's mouth formed a perfect 'o' as it dawned on him. "Oh! Hmm. That must've seemed...strange."

    Al smacked a palm to his forehead. If he'd told them once, he'd told them a million times: Never let Gooshie talk to any of the leapees. That's what Beeks was for when he was gone. Not that Gooshie liked to step away from his work often anyway, but he had neither the training nor the social skills for that kind of thing. Plus, he just wasn't very good at it. Luckily Russell was a man of the faith. 

    Al gestured with his hand and tried to keep things rolling along. "So what did Sam and I leap in for?"

    "Sorry; we don't know anything yet," Gooshie replied nervously, "Ziggy's working on it. In the meantime, she says you need to keep up with Russell's duties as a priest."

    "Aw, Gooshie! Do I _have_ to?" Al whined.

    "I'm afraid so, Admiral."

    "But I don't wanna..." Al mumbled to himself. 

    Gooshie lifted a paw philosophically and cleared his throat. "Admiral, if I may. I believe it was Maya Angelou who once said--" 

    "Shut up, Gooshie."

    "Right."

    "Help me find Sam, will ya?" Al ordered more than asked. He was anxious to find his friend.

    "Hey! You got some spare change?" called someone from behind. 

    Al sighed. "Look, I'm--" He turned around and stopped when he saw who was grinning at him. He'd seen that face in the Waiting Room. Which meant that he was... "Sam!"

    He raced toward him, nearly tackling his friend in a huge hug, and Sam held him tight. When they pulled apart, it was their true faces they saw smiling back at each other. The embrace would've lasted a bit longer, but Al had some trouble with Sam's less-than-fresh garbage odor. But he didn't say anything for the time being; he was just happy to see him.

    Nearby, Gooshie was grinning proudly and bouncing on his padded feet. He was getting pretty good at this Observer thing, he thought. He pushed some buttons and lifted the Imaging Chamber door. "I'll just leave you two alone. I'll let you know if Ziggy finds anything!" Al waved him off absentmindedly.

    "Thanks, Gooshie!" Sam threw out as the door was shutting.

    "How the hell did you find me?" 

    "Gooshie told me! He told me what happened, and where you--I-I can't believe you're really here!" Sam could barely contain his excitement. He hadn't seen Al in person since...he couldn't recall at the moment.

    "Neither can I..." Al said with less enthusiasm, his mouth slanting. He frowned when he saw the amused grin spreading over Sam's face. His friend stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What? What's that look for?"

    "You're a priest."

    "Yeah, so?"

    "You. Al Calavicci."

    Al rolled his eyes. "I'm not _really_ a priest, Sam."

    "That must be your worst nightmare!" Sam snickered. Al glared. Prideful, he folded his arms and turned away, determined not to be baited by Sam's teasing. For Sam's part, he was just too tickled by the situation not to be cruel. He'd seen Al wear many hats, but him as a priest was just so absurd. "You can't get any more opposite than that!"

    Maybe Al _could_ be baited. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

    "Oh come on, Al. Is there a Commandment you don't love breaking?"

    "I'm thinking about breaking one right now if you don't shut your cakehole," Al warned. A fire lit in his eyes and he waved dismissively. "Following the rules is snoozeville! Not that you'd know anything about that feeling. Reading instruction manuals is probably your idea of fun." He huffed and turned away again, breathing through his nostrils. 

    Sam frowned. He _did_ find reading instruction manuals fun, but that was beside the point. If it was possible, Al seemed more irritated than usual. "Okay, so either you're actually offended by me implying you'd make a terrible priest, or something else is bothering you."

    "Who's bothered?" 

    Sam simply gave Al a silent look. Al might be a difficult person to read to a lot of people, but not to Sam. He could tell something was on his mind that he wasn't saying. His anger turning to anxiousness, Al gave him a sideways glance, as if rehearsing what he was going to say in his head. 

    "Uh, Sam...something happened when I leaped in here, and you're not gonna like it."

    Sam furrowed his brows. "What is it?"

    Al rubbed at his earlobe, his eyes darting around the room, and he began to pace. "Well, uh, you might want to...sit down for this. It's bad news. Really bad news."

    Was it something to do with someone they knew? Did someone die? Suddenly, Sam went from concern to alarm. "Al, just tell me what happened."

    "I saw a ghost," Al blurted out. He gulped nervously and waited for his friend's reaction to the news. 

    Sam's face went deadpan. "You saw a ghost."

    "Right! A ghost!" Al exclaimed. 

    "Al."

    "She could go _through_ things, and she was _cold to the touch_ , and--"

    "Al."

    "And--Oh! _Sam_ , she had this _horrible, yucky, oozing_  wound where she was killed! Cripes, it was awful!"

    "Al."

    "What?!" Al stopped his pacing and flipped wildly to face Sam, who had yet to change his expression. 

    Blinking slowly, he talked to Al as if he were speaking to a child. "You know there are no such things as ghosts, don't you?"

    "Like hell there isn't!" Al answered defensively, "I was just talking to one!"

    "Maybe she was a member of the church?" Sam tried. Sometimes Al could be so blinded by his superstitions, he couldn't see the obvious answer staring him right in the face. 

    "I put my hand right through her!" Al shouted, miming the action, "She walked through walls! No one but a ghost can do that!"

    "Al. _You_ used to do that." 

    Al lowered his eyelids. "I'm telling you, she was the genuine article. And I don't care if you believe me or not; I'm not going to mess with the Phantom of the Leap! Not in this lifetime or any other!"

    Al was impossible. Sam's eyes went heavenward. "Ghost aren't real, Al."

    "Oh yeah? Then how do you explain what I saw?"

    "I think you saw someone from the church, and your mind played tricks on you," Sam stated matter-of-factly, "You were probably freaked out about leaping, and you weren't thinking straight."

    "I never freak out, Sam!" Al said a little too loudly, his eyes still a little too wide. 

    "You're freaking out now!"

    "Am not!"

    "Are too!"

    "Okay fine!" Al conceded, spreading out his hands and taking a calming breath. "But I know what I saw. Maybe you don't believe in ghosts, but I know what's really out there."

    "Alright," Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At least Al wasn't shouting any more. When he continued, he couldn't keep the slight patronizing tone out of his voice, though it wasn't for lack of trying. "Let's say, hypothetically, that you really did see a ghost...Is she here now?"

    Sheepishly, Al shifted his eyes. "Well, no."

    "She's not _floating_ through the air?" Sam mimed a hovering specter with his hands. "No ghostly wailing or rattling of chains?"

    "Uh...no." Al folded his arms once more. The sarcasm wasn't appreciated and it made him feel irritated again. 

    "Then clearly she had better things to do than to haunt you, right?" Sam reasoned. This seemed to make sense to Al, who loosened up a little.

    "I...I guess you're right."

    "Good," Sam said, nodding resolutely, "Then we can put this ghost thing behind us, and focus on the leap. Deal?" He held out his hand to Al, who reluctantly shook it.

    "Deal."

    "Excellent. You hungry?"

    "Starved." 

    "You can buy me lunch then."

    A beat. Sam grinned. Al burst into laughter, and the tension was instantly shattered and the air cleared. "Yeah...I think I can do that. You, uh, you got someplace to stay on this leap?"

    "No."

    "Well you do now. You're staying with me, kid." 

    "Gee, thanks, Al," Sam said appreciatively. 

    "Yeah, yeah. Come on."

    Al placed his hand on Sam's back, leading him out of the church and toward a much-needed meal.


	2. Chapter 2

    Sam figured Al was even hungrier than he was, because he tore through enough food for two people. Now that the childish ghost business was over, it almost felt like old times--two friends sharing lunch, swapping old stories and enjoying each other's company. Danny and Russell were in the Waiting Room, and Sam Beckett and Al Calavicci were the ones in the diner, no pretenses to be had for anyone else. It was something Sam didn't even realize he was missing. 

    Their bellies full now, they followed the address on Russell's license to a small cottage near the edge of town. It was slightly old but clearly kept in good condition, the grass trimmed neatly and a small garden out front. 

    "I wonder why Russell lives here," said Sam, eyeing a tomato plant thoughtfully.

    "Why's that?" asked Al, his tongue stuck out as he tried another key on the door.

    "Well because there was a rectory attached to the church. If the other priests live there, why doesn't Russell?"

    "Maybe he likes being alone?" Al guessed, shrugging, "I know I wouldn't want to live with a bunch of priests. Especially if they smelled anything like the one I met today. Boy, he stunk! It was definitely way too early to be eating that much garlic."

    "The one outside the church?" Sam asked curiously, "I met him on the way in and I didn't notice any smell."

    "Maybe that's because you smell worse than he does."

    Sam pursed his lips in exasperation. "I can't help it if I leaped into garbage."

    "Yahtzee!" Al exclaimed as the door unlocked at last. Chuckling smugly, he continued as he made his way inside. "Told you I'd get it. I keep telling you; you just have to have a little patience and--AH!" 

    He was greeted by 130 pounds of French Mastiff barking loudly at him, and he jumped out of the doorway. "What the holy hell is THAT thing?!"

    Sam popped his head over Al's shoulder to look at the dog. "Must be Russell's. He probably doesn't like strangers in his house." 

    Animals could always see behind Sam’s leaping aura and particularly mischievous holograms, something they put to use on more than one leap when Sam needed a distraction. But now it wasn't so useful, because they were stuck outside their temporary home for the time being. As Sam started to search the yard for a stick or something to divert the dog's attention, Al's expression turned unexpectedly stern. 

    "Hey! Watch your tone with me, buddy!" he scolded the animal, "We're coming in, so back off!" 

    If Sam didn't know any better, he could've sworn he heard Al _growl_ at him. No, that was silly. It had to have been the dog. The animal went quiet and cocked his blocky head, backing away. A shocked Sam looked at Al, who seemed as equally surprised by this exchange. 

    "How'd you do that?" 

    Al shook his head and lifted his shoulders. "I don't know."

    Cautiously, Al stepped inside, expecting the animal to stay in place. He had no such luck, because the dog knocked him excitedly to the ground and ran his tongue across his face. "Aw, gross! Get offa me!" Al shoved at him and the dog obediently followed his instructions, wagging his tail happily. 

    "I think he likes you," Sam chuckled as he followed Al inside.

    "Ick!" Al wiped slobber from his mouth in disgust as he got to his feet. "Well I don't like him! That's gotta be the ugliest dog I've ever seen." 

    The dog's mouth opened wide in something akin to a smile, all wrinkles and hyperactive enthusiasm. Sam stooped down beside him and grinned. He always liked animals, maybe because he grew up on a farm. Dimly, he recalled having a retriever named Rocket when he was a kid. He patted the Mastiff on the head. "I think he's kind of cute."

    "You would," Al grumbled, exploring his new digs. 

    "Whatever you did, he seems fine now." Sam leaned in and addressed the dog directly, finding a bone-shaped tag around his neck. "What's your name, boy? Huh?" He read the tag. "'Rusty.' That's fitting." The dog's fur did have a certain color reminiscent of rust, he thought. Something funny occurred to him, and he turned toward Al. "Ha, Russell and Rusty!"

    Al rolled his eyes and kept studying his new place. Not that there was much to look at. Back home, Al was used to minimal living quarters, but this was really bare bones. Outside of essential furniture and a bookshelf, there was nothing much of note. There was no kind of decoration save for a simple wooden cross on the wall, no personality, simply what needed to be there. It was almost depressing. "Russell seems like a fun guy," Al commented dryly. 

    Sam stepped up beside him and Al sniffed, his nose crinkling, as he gave him a furtive glance. He was really starting to smell ripe. When Sam noticed this look, he looked sheepish. "Oh. I guess, uh...I should clean up."

    "Only if you want to stay here."

    "I'll find the shower." Sam searched a few doors, found the bathroom, and slipped inside. Rusty padded over and looked at Al expectantly.

    "What're _you_ lookin' at?" Al asked, sizing him up with one eye. Rusty barked, and Al's expression softened. "You hungry?" An affirmative yip. "Okay, uh...let's see what we can find." 

    It was the damnedest thing; it was as if the dog could understand him. Rusty made his way over to the cabinet under the microwave, pawing at the door and waiting for him to follow. Al scratched his head. "Is that where your food is?" Another bark. "Alright, alright, keep your pants on." _Bark!_ "I _know_ that. It's a metaphor, you numbskull."

    Opening the cabinet, he produced a can of dog food, searched the drawers for a can opener, and poured the contents into Rusty's bowl. The dog made a snuffling noise as he stuck his snout into his food. "Don't eat too fast," Al said in a fatherly tone, "You'll get a stomachache." 

    "Wo-ow! You, like, live here? Could use a little color, doncha think?"

    Al screamed again and whipped around. It _couldn't_ be. He thought he was rid of her! But there she stood, the ghost of fashion past, now dressed in an even gaudier ensemble. She wore a bright orange coat, faux snakeskin pants, and a cowboy hat. The way some people dressed mystified Al.

    "Oh, _no_! Not you again!" 

    "Rude much?" Vanessa said snootily. Rusty lifted his head to look at her curiously, decided she wasn't a threat, then went back to his lunch. Al wasn't so nonchalant about this encounter.

    "SAAAAM!" he called out fearfully.

    "We never got to finish our conversation!" Vanessa said, pointing pushily at him. By now Al was rushing into Russell's bedroom, shutting and locking the door. He knew it was a pointless defense against something that could walk through walls, but it gave him some sort of sense of control in an uncontrollable situation. Unsurprisingly, Vanessa followed him inside. "What's your problem? Why're you acting so _weird_?" 

    There was a loaded question. "I-I-I don't talk to ghosts!"

    "Why not?"

    A beat. Al thought that should go without explanation. "Well, I...I don't do so well with d-dead people."

    "Look, Father, can I be honest with you?" Vanessa walked leisurely into the room, her boots clacking against the floor. How did that work if she was a ghost? And how did she change outfits? "I don't like being dead any more than you like me being dead, but I figure I gotta deal, you know? I’ve had a couple weeks to think about it. Anyway, thing is, before today, I haven't met any living person who could see me! But you can!"

    "Aren't I lucky?" Al asked no one in particular, eyes searching the room for he wasn't sure what. Vanessa ignored him.

    "So the way I figure it, you can help me with my unfinished business."

    "Your what?" Al questioned, his curiosity overriding his fear.

    "My unfinished business!" Vanessa repeated. Al's face was frozen in bafflement, "Oh come on, don't you know anything about spirits? A person becomes a ghost if they have like...something without closure, ya know? And since the only other people I can talk to are dead like me, they can't exactly help. But you can!"

    "No way!"

    "Why-y?" Vanessa whined.

    "Because I don't want anything to do with you!"

    "Really?"

    "What, was I being _subtle_?" 

    Vanessa's mouth dropped open and she huffed in disbelief, folding her arms. "Okay, well, if you don't help me, then…I'll haunt you for the rest of your life!"

    Somewhere during this whole ordeal, Al's paralyzing fear had gone away and been replaced with overwhelming irritation. Once he stopped thinking of her as a ghost, the most striking feature about her was her obnoxiousness. And frankly, he wasn't going to let someone tell him what to do when they were six feet under.

    He shrugged and threw out his arms as if to challenge her. "Go ahead. See if I care. I won't be sticking around 1988 for very long anyway, so what's it matter to me?" He grinned smugly and left the room. _That_ oughta show her. 

    "Whazzat even mean?" Vanessa whined as she clacked behind him, "You don't make any sense when you talk! Talk normal!" 

    Al closed his eyes and his mouth tightened. He was sort of hoping she would give up when he called her bluff. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away. Opening the cabinet, he started looking for a glass.

    "Oh, I see! You're giving me the cold shoulder now? I thought you were some sort of holy man, and you're ignoring a helpless girl in need!"

    Al filled his glass with water and took a sip. "Why don't you go bug some of your dead friends about it? Maybe you'll find someone who cares."

    Vanessa gasped and flushed red, which Al thought was pretty impressive for someone with no blood. "If you're gonna be like that, then we'll do this the hard way!" She sucked in a huge gulp of air, and Al held his breath, expecting the worst. Maybe she was going to let out an unearthly wail, or some sort of monstrous shriek. Instead, something far worse came out: she began to belt out a horribly out-of-tune version of "We Built This City." Al threw his hands over his ears. It was more than he could stand. 

    "Hey! Cut it out!" he barked, but she only got louder and more lousy. "I mean it!" 

    "...on ROCK and ROOOOOOOOLL--"

    "OKAY OKAY I'LL LISTEN!" Vanessa stopped, smirked, and fluttered her eyelashes. Al took a deep breath, lowered his hands, and asked quietly, "...what kind of unfinished business are we talkin' about?"

    Vanessa shrugged. "I don't know."

    "What?!" Al shouted, gritting his teeth. 

    "Look, they don't like, send you a postcard telling you what your unfinished business is when you die!" Vanessa explained defensively, throwing her hands out, "But I figure I can guess."

    "I'm _listening_."

    "I wanna talk to my boyfriend. He can't hear me, so...maybe I can talk to him through you?" She fluttered her eyelashes again and stuck out her lip.

    Al let out a mirthless laugh, "I don't think so, lady."

    Vanessa gave an ugly frown. "How come?"

    "Because I'm not some couples counsellor for the dead!" 

    "You said you would help me!"

    "No, I said I would listen."

    "You want me to start singing again?"

    "You do and I'll kill you a second time!"

    "You monster! How dare you make jokes about that?!"

    "What're you gonna do, hit me?" Al teased, smirking.

    "Al?"

    "Huh?" Al and Vanessa grunted simultaneously, turning to see a soggy Sam standing in the living room, his brows furrowed.

    "Sam, thank god you're here!" Al sighed in relief, jabbing a finger at Vanessa, "This is what I was talking about earlier!" He waved his hand through Vanessa as a demonstration. "See? I wasn't making it up!"

    "Hey! Watch who you're putting your hands through, mister!" 

    Sam was quiet, giving Al a look of uncertainty. Al chuckled, half self-satisfaction and half madness, as he continued to flap his arm. "Yeah, I bet you're feeling pretty embarrassed right about now, Sam."

    "Al...what're you doing?"

    "What am I doing?" Al echoed incredulously, "I prove to you that ghosts exist, and you ask me what I'm doing?"

    "What are you talking about?" Sam asked, "All I see is you speaking to yourself and waving your arm in the air."

    "Stop foolin' around, Sam! I'm talking about her!" Al pointed at Vanessa. Sam was always horrible at making jokes.

    "Who?"

    "What do you mean, who? Her!" Al gestured emphatically at the woman, but Sam seemed to look right through her. "Tell me you can see her, Sam!"

    "There's no one there, Al," Sam explained, looking increasingly worried. 

    "I _told_ you," Vanessa said, "You're the only one who can see me! The only living person anyway." 

    "Nobody asked your opinion, Casper!" 

    "Don't stereotype me, you little troll!" 

    "Maybe your unfinished business has nothing to do with closure," Al growled, "Maybe you're just too dense to know when you're not wanted anymore! Go lie in a shallow grave!" 

    That struck a chord. Vanessa fell quiet, her lip quivering, and began to sniffle. Al rolled his eyes. "Oh, gimme a break..."

    "Th-That's really...h-hurtful, you know."

    "Get a thicker skin! Oh wait, you don't _have_ any," Al said with an evil glint in his eye. Vanessa began to wail, and she faded away. Al laughed. "Good riddance! Ha-HA!"

    Sam watched half of this exchange with concern. Al was talking to himself--no, worse, talking to someone who wasn't there. He really believed there was a woman in front of him. It wasn't a member of the congregation like Sam had first thought, but something a lot more troubling. 

    "Al. I'm really worried about you."

    Al waved him off. "Ah, don't worry, Sammy. She's gone now."

    "I don't think you understand what's happening here," Sam said carefully, "I think something about this leap is affecting you."

    "I swear she was there!" Al repeated pleadingly, standing up straighter, "She wanted me to help her with her _unfinished business_ or some other crap."

    "Ghosts are fictional, Al," Sam insisted, "But even if they _were_ real, why couldn't I see her?"

    "Well, because..." Al searched for a moment, then gave up. "I don't know."

    "Maybe you're the only one who can see her...because she's in your head."

    Al narrowed his eyes. "This is me you're talking to, Sam. I'm not some nutcase!"

    "I don't think you're a nutcase," Sam said gently, raising his palms, "I just think that...maybe you're experiencing some residuals from Russell."

    "Like talking to dead people?" Al repeated, as if the very assumption was ridiculous. 

    "I don't know, maybe he has some sort of chemical imbalance?" Sam offered. Al looked ready to argue again, and Sam tried to reason with him. "Al, I believe that you saw a woman. I just don't believe that she's real."

    Al took a moment to collect himself, breathing deeply, before he slowly asked his next question. "Why is it so difficult for you to believe I saw a ghost...but psychosynergizing someone's loose bolts due to some time travel something or other is so easy for you to swallow?"

    Sam sighed. Al was getting too defensive over this, but Sam knew he was right on this one. Ghosts don't exist, plain and simple. He attempted to calmly explain his reasoning. "Because there's science behind time travel. We know for a fact that sometimes we pick things up from the leapees, so it's not unreasonable to assume that something has happened to you here. If you're the only one who can see or hear her, she doesn't exist."

    "Sam, _you_ talked to someone only you could see or hear for _six years_. Me!" Al pointed out, tapping his chest indignantly, "Just because it sounds unbelievable doesn't mean it's not the truth. Just...try to be open-minded about this? For me?"

    Before Sam could respond, the phone rang. He looked toward the ceiling. "I'll think about it." 

    "Close enough." 

    Al headed for the phone, and Sam leaned against the counter. Despite what he'd said, he didn't believe for a second that this had anything to do with spirits. Al was bonding with Russell. It wasn't just the invisible woman; Al had been acting slightly off since he'd arrived on this leap, from the growling Sam thought he heard to his shorter than usual temper. Sam would have to keep an eye on his friend to make sure this wasn't a sign of something worse than simply talking to "ghosts." Maybe this had something to do with why they leaped in here.

    He heard chuckling as Al re-entered the room.

    "Who was it?" asked Sam.

    "The church," Al answered, "Get this: they said one of the other priests got the pukes, and they asked _me_ to do confessions tonight! Ha ha!"

    "Well what did you say?"

    Al raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding me? I said no, Sam! I can't do confessions!"

    "You have to make everyone believe you're Russell," Sam reminded him, "Besides, this might have something to do with why we leaped. You've gotta go."

    "But..." Al seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging, because he knew Sam was right. That was an annoying habit. Sam patted his shoulder and grinned.

    "Come on. I'll go with you."

\-------

    Al hoped lying about being a priest wasn't a one-way ticket straight to Hell. After all, God, Time, Fate, or Whatever was the one who sent him here in the first place. And it was entirely possible that something someone was going to say in that confessional had to do with why they leaped in, so he went along with Sam's terrible advice. Besides, how hard could it be? He just had to listen, throw in a few "hmms," tell them to say their prayers, and pretend he hadn't done the same thing several times and in several different places. He was sure they'd be retroactively forgiven once the real Russell was back. Probably.

    "An '88 Chevy Corvette? That's a nice car! I'd be jealous too! Let me tell you, that's one smooth ride."

    "So you have feelings for your best friend's wife; who hasn't done the same thing?"

    "Well, uh...you apologized for the spaghetti comment, so I really don't know, um...what was the first part of that story again?"

    "I don't think that's even considered stealing at that point."

    "You said _what_? Oh man, that's gotta be embarrassing!" 

    This priest thing was actually pretty easy. In fact, he was starting to enjoy hearing everyone's dirty little secrets. Sam was missing out on some juicy details!

\-------

    Actually, Sam was taking a nap on a pew. This was getting pretty boring, and it was starting to get dark outside. Hopefully Al would find out something, but in the meantime, he was beat. He was just starting to drift off when a middle-aged woman cleared her throat and gave him an admonishing look. Slightly embarrassed, Sam sat up straight and gave her an apologetic grin. 

    _Clunk-whoosh._

    "Gooshie!" Gooshie raised his hand to greet him, and Sam received a shush from that same scolding woman. He lowered his voice and said discretely, "Meet me outside."

    "Certainly, Dr. Beckett."

    Sam made his way out back, and Gooshie popped out of the room.

\-------

    "Have you found out what we're here to do?"

    Gooshie closed one eye and bit his lip nervously. "Wellllll....no, not as of yet." 

    "Why?" Sam asked, suspicious of his tone, "What's going on?"

    "Ziggy might've gotten _slightly_ tipsy at the Halloween Bash tonight," Gooshie confessed, pinching his fingers together. 

    Sam was absolutely dumbstruck. "Ziggy's a computer! She can't get drunk!"

    "While that is technically true, Dr. Beckett," Gooshie agreed, "Ziggy got jealous of how much fun everyone was having, so...she decided she was going to emulate the 'party experience' as it were...and now she's pretending to have drank just a little too much." The handlink made a strange clunking noise and whirred slowly, blinking out of its usual sync. Gooshie smacked it hard, and it burped. "See what I mean?"

    Sam's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. Ziggy had the worst timing for her little idiosyncrasies, and it looked like he was going to have to lay his foot down. He might be stuck in time, but he was still her creator. "Tell Ziggy if she doesn't cooperate, she won't get her tune-up this quarter," he instructed, the disciplined parent. Ziggy loved getting tune-ups, even though she'd never own up to being less than perfect. It was like getting a massage, removing the kinks out of hard-worked joints. Gooshie didn't need to repeat Sam's orders, as the handlink immediately lit up and chirped as normal. A miraculous turnaround. 

    "Heh...Ziggy says she's on it."

    Sam grinned. "Atta girl. Oh, um, Gooshie...I wonder if you can do me a favor."

    "If it's in my power, Dr. Beckett," Gooshie said, eager to please. He was a much better hologram than Al in that respect. 

    "I need you to have Ziggy look up Russell's medical records."

    "Medical records?"

    "Yeah, any sort of medication, past injuries, his mental health...anything significant."

    "Sure thing," Gooshie replied, tapping the handlink rapidly, "Why? Do you have an idea about this leap?"

    Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure, but...I think Al is psychosynergizing with Russell. I just want to be sure what we're dealing with."

    Gooshie nodded and didn't pry any further. "Got it. Let's see what Ziggy comes up with..."

    Sam waited patiently for the information and rubbed his arms against the chill in the air. Gooshie, of course, was unaffected by the cold. The handlink plinked, and Sam studied the full moon in the sky. 

\-------

    "You see, I wanted it to happen...I'd never had a threesome with my twin before..."

    This was getting good. Al grinned impishly and wished he had some popcorn. He thought this woman sounded like she was hot; her breathy voice danced across the divide and reeled him in, and if he squinted through the screen he could see her bazooms heaving as she spoke. 

    "And, uh..." Al licked his lips, "and then what happened?" 

    "So then the _pizza boy_ showed up, and it was _his_ twin brother..."

    Wowee! What the hell were these people's lives like? Al just knew there was no way he was going to miss out on any sordid detail. "And then...?"

    "Well, I had to get rid of all of this chocolate sauce _somehow_...so I asked the pizza boy to join me in the shower..."

    "Hmmm..." Al hummed thoughtfully. As she went on, he felt himself getting increasingly hot around the collar. Right now he could only be thankful that he was hidden away from sight, because a priest at full salute might appear unseemly. He couldn't help his natural reaction to her story, though, and what a story it was. Say, was this booth getting warmer? 

    "...that's when we decided to play a game of naked Twister..."

    Al felt the breath knocked out of him. Jeez, this story was good, but it wasn't _that_ good. Something felt...different, that was for sure. He felt hot and stifled, like this confessional was too small for him. His skin prickled with the heat, and then it felt, strangely...as if something were moving under his skin, just beneath the surface. 

    And then a sharp pain wracked his entire body, blindsiding him. He yelled in surprise and curled in on himself. What the hell was that?! 

    _Crunch! Snap!_

    Al shouted in excruciating pain as he felt the sensation of several bones shifting and breaking at once. He thought he heard the woman ask if he was alright, but he was in too much agony to hear her. His trembling hand reached for the door, and he stopped dead still, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. What he saw was absolutely impossible, even for his superstitious mind, and yet it was happening before his very eyes. He was paralyzed with terror.

    Fur was growing on his hands. His fingernails, bloody and cracked, were being pushed away by a second, sharper set...a set of...of _claws_. As he stared in utter, helpless horror, his knuckles shifted and cracked. 

    His mouth, hung open in shock, began to snap painfully, and with his tongue he could feel something growing...his teeth were elongating, sharpening...into _fangs_. Oh god. What was happening? What the hell was happening?!

    Al reached for the door again.

    **_CRUNCH! SNAP!_**

    He screamed again, louder than he could ever remember, as he felt his spine shift as his back broke and expanded. His clothes felt tighter and tighter, and then began to rip away. Bloodied fingers scraped at the wall, claws leaving trails lined with red. As he tried to call for help, his cry became strangled in his throat, emitting an inhuman sound. His scream became a roar, and suddenly, his vision became red.

    He didn't know what was happening, but he knew that he wanted to tear something apart. He wanted to kill. He _needed_ to kill. He needed to kill... _her_. 

    A howl. Al Calavicci was no more.

\-------

    No sooner had Gooshie shut the Imaging Chamber door than Sam heard screaming from inside the church, and the few people who were left began to rapidly evacuate. Confused and concerned, Sam grabbed the woman who had shushed him by the arm. 

    "Hey, what's going on?"

    "S-Some horrible animal! It got Father Gray!"

    "Al!" Sam gasped. In an instant, he was rushing inside. 

    He wouldn't have believed what he saw if it hadn't been him who saw it. Inside, a well-endowed woman with blonde hair was cowering in a corner. The confessional lay in pieces near a broken window, completely destroyed, the floor a glittering rainbow covered in shards of stained glass. And before the terrified woman, there stood a large, brown wolf, but it was like no wolf Sam had ever seen or heard of. It was like no animal he knew at all. It stood eight feet tall, on two feet, almost...almost like a man.

    Sam's need to help this woman overtook his need for self-preservation. Picking up a splintered piece of wood from the confessional, he threw it at the large creature. "Hey! Leave her alone!"

    There was low growl. Slowly, the monster turned around, baring drooling, yellow fangs at him from its crinkled snout. The monster's feet _thud, thudded_ as it turned around. 

    Sam's eyes were huge, and he stood rooted to the spot. Admittedly, his plan didn't go this far. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the wolf as it studied Sam with predatory yellow eyes. 

    The woman ran. The wolf snarled and snapped back toward her, and Sam, unthinking, leaped onto its back to stop it. The woman was barely able to make it out the door, much to Sam's relief, but now he found himself in the troubling predicament of being on a monster's back. However, he wasn't there for long, because the wolf flung him easily away, causing him to smash into one of the pews. Looking up in a daze, he didn't have time to get away before the animal had bounded on top of him. 

    Sam was frozen. He could only manage a jagged whisper. "Oh boy..."

    He could feel its hot breath on his face. He could see his terrified expression reflected in its eyes, they were so close. That meant he was this close to becoming dinner if he didn't do something fast.

    Okay, it looked human enough. Lifting up his leg, he gave the creature a swift knee to the goods. Howling in pain, it lifted up a clawed hand to tear into him, but he'd bought enough time to grab a piece of stained glass, slashing at the wolf's shoulder. The animal emitted a sharp whine and backed off, granting an opportunity for Sam to roll away. Snarling in frustration, the wolf got to its feet and took off out the door, knocking it off of its hinges.

    Sam winced and dropped the glass. His hand was lacerated from the grip, dripping ruby red to the floor, and he wrapped it in his shirt. Groaning, he pulled himself up and ran to the broken door, but the wolf had disappeared into the night. If it was even a wolf. He hoped that it didn't hurt anyone, whatever it was. His eyes widened as he remembered, and he spun around. 

    "Al! Al!" he shouted desperately. He began to frenziedly search the church, but he didn't see where he could be. The confessional was in pieces, and not another soul was left in the building at this point. He did, however, find something left behind in the remains of the confessional, and his heart filled with dread: tattered pieces of clothing, and blood. Al's blood. 

    "AL!" Sam tried again, his eyes darting around the church. 

    No one answered.

    "AL!"


	3. Chapter 3

    Sam was going mad not knowing what had happened to Al. He'd been up all night searching, but he had yet to find any trace of him outside of the troubling remnants of blood and clothing left in the church. He took comfort in the fact that there was no body, and Gooshie had insisted they were still connected, which meant he was still alive, but for some reason his mind was scrambled and they couldn't get a lock on him. Which seemed to confirm Sam's theory about psychosynergizing with the leapee, but also meant that they had no way to determine if he was hurt and how badly. 

    Sam had scoured the area around the church, he checked back at Russell's home, he'd tried the hospital, and now he was simply wandering the streets. His feet ached from walking past the point of exhaustion, and without anything to eat since lunch the previous day, he was running on empty. Finally, he collapsed onto a park bench, and his head fell into his hands. 

    Breathing deeply, he tried to keep away any negative thoughts. Al was alive. He would find him. This was a small town, after all. Once collected, he looked up and down the road. The sun was just starting to rise, turning the sky orange and purple. 

    "Al, where are you?"

    "Dr. Beckett?"

    He turned to see Gooshie nearby, the Imaging Chamber door just clunking shut behind him. His image flickered briefly. Because he wasn't originally intended as the Observer, he wasn't tuned into Sam's exact brainwaves, but at least they had a signal...which was more than they could say for Al at the moment. 

    Sam sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, Gooshie, what've you got?"

    "Still no lock, I'm afraid. Ziggy's working on it." 

    Sam said nothing, nodding despondently. 

    "We did, however, find a leap scenario," Gooshie said, wishing it was encouraging, but anxious because it was pretty grim news. Sam looked up expectantly. "Ziggy says there's a 92% chance you're here to...stop a series of murders. It seems a number of people have turned up dead or missing...seemingly attacked by an animal." At this, Sam shot up straight in alarm, but Gooshie lifted his hands to preemptively cut him off. "Russell Gray is not listed as one of the victims! But, um, i-it would seem this is the work of that wolf you saw in the church. Ziggy's trying to find out who the next target is, but a lot of the victims are homeless or unidentified. Records are a little bit...scarce." He wobbled his hand at the last part. 

    Sam nodded in acknowledgment and stared at a pebble by his feet, perplexed. "Gooshie...you should have seen it. I've never seen anything like that in my life. I-If it hurt Al, he..." He didn't finish. Al was okay. He had to be. 

    The handlink squealed and both man and hologram jumped in surprise. Gooshie raised his eyebrows when he read the tiny screen. "I can't explain it, Dr. Beckett, but the signal suddenly cleared up!" 

    Sam was quickly on his feet, instantly filled with renewed energy. "You've got a lock?"

    "We've got a lock!"

\-------

    "Ughhhh..." 

    As Al slowly came to, he hoped someone had gotten the number of the truck that hit him. Jeez, he felt awful. His entire body ached, although his pain was more pronounced in his shoulder, and his head pounded something fierce...He didn't remember drinking, but he had the worst hangover he'd ever had the displeasure of dealing with. His head spun as he sat up, but as his mind began to clear, a few fairly unusual things occurred to him.

    One, he was in a forest. Two, he was completely naked. And three, he was covered in blood. 

    "What the...?”

    His heart stopped as suddenly, memories came flooding back to him. He...he was in the confessional, and then his body was on fire, and then he began to...to _change_ into something...a wolf! A werewolf! Holy shit! A furry, shapeshifting, ravenous fucking werewolf! 

    A strange taste stuck with him and he felt his mouth in horror to find it ringed with blood, dripping down onto the rest of him. As the implication of what that meant started to sink in, he began to hyperventilate. That girl. Oh god, he'd wanted so badly to kill her...and he had. He began to violently retch onto the grass, bringing up scarlet contents which he didn't care to identify and only made him empty his stomach faster. 

    "Here he is! I found him, Dr. Beckett! Yikes, Admiral...you don't look so good." Gasping for air, Al glanced up to see Gooshie leaning toward him, hands on his knees. Except, the image was coming in like TV static, the silhouette of Gooshie but with no distinguishing features. It must've been another error in the visual signal. "Say, that's not...blood, is it?" Gooshie sounded faint, and the static clunked to the Imaging Chamber floor. He always passed out at the sight of blood. After a moment, his signal was cut off and he disappeared. 

    "Al! Thank god we found you!" Overwhelmed with relief, Sam rushed toward his friend, but his smile faded when he saw the state of him. He was shaking, naked, and covered in dirt and blood. Instantly, his doctoring instincts took over. "Oh god! Al, you're bleeding!" He skidded to the ground next to him and reached to check him over, but Al jerked away instinctively. 

    "It's not mine..." he said distantly, eyes searching the trees. But his attention suddenly snapped back toward Sam, his voice filled with panic. "Sam! I-I killed her! Or someone! I don't know who! Oh god, I...Who knows what else I did?!"

    "Al! Al, calm down!" Sam ordered firmly, grabbing him by the arms. This time Al didn't pull away, but he remained close to hysterics. In an effort to stop his shaking, Sam took off his hoodie and wrapped it around him. He wished he had a blanket or something, but it was all he had at the moment. "You're in shock. Just focus on me and breathe."

    "But the blood, Sam! The bl--"

    "Hey, it's okay! It's okay. It's..." By now, Sam could see a trail of blood in the leaves, leading to what remained of some poor animal. "It's from that deer over there. You must've...tripped in it or something."

    "A...a deer?" Al glanced over his shoulder. The sight of the corpse filled him with a conflicting sense of relief and nausea, and he dry heaved, having run out of things to upchuck. 

    Sam waited patiently, then tried to gently coax some sense out of his friend. "What happened last night? There was a…a wolf in the church, and I couldn't find you." 

    Al twisted toward him urgently. "Sam! Did anyone get hurt? O-Or killed?"

    "No, everyone was fine," Sam assured him, "I mean, I got banged around a little bit, but I'm mostly just sore."

    "Y-You didn't get bit or--or scratched, did you?" Al gasped, eyes wide, catching sight of his bandaged hand, "What happened to your hand?!"

    "Relax, Al, it was from glass. I'll be fine." Sam raised his hand and smiled. "I don't even need stitches."

    Blowing out a deep breath, Al's head fell into bloody hands. "God! Sam, I could've killed you!" 

    "What're you talking about?" Sam frowned. 

    "It was me, Sam! _I_ was the wolf!"

    It took Sam a moment to try and gauge whether or not he'd heard Al correctly. He lowered his chin and asked carefully, "You...were the wolf?"

    "Yes!" Al burst out, "I was listening to confessions, and then all of a sudden I'm growing fur and fangs! I must've caught it from Russell or something, I dunno, but I'm a...a w-w-werewolf, Sam!" 

    Sam took one look at Al's wild eyes and knew he believed everything he was saying. This was too much. He wearily rubbed his hands across his face, swallowed his initial reaction, and tried to keep himself neutral. "Al, I'm going to take you to a hospital."

    His friend's shoulders sagged. "You don't believe me?"

    "I just think you need to be checked out. You're not making sense."

    "I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true, Sam! I wouldn't make up something like this!" He laughed sickly. "I wish to God I were making it up!"

    "Al..."

    "Please, Sam," Al pleaded, grabbing his shoulder, "No hospital. Please...just take me home."

    For a moment, Sam considered his options. It was clear to him that Al was not in his right mind, but he also knew that Al had been leaped into Russell for a specific reason, a reason he was needed on this leap. It wouldn't do him much good if he were kept in a psych ward. He also knew that Al hated hospitals, and in his current state...it might do him more harm than good. Besides, Sam was a doctor. If anyone could take care of Al, it was him. Maybe going back to Russell's home and calming down would allow him to start talking sense. 

    "Okay, Al. We'll go home."

\-------

    When Al watched the blood drain into the bottom of the shower, it felt a bit like sloughing off the weight on his shoulders. It was a start on the road back to normalcy, anyway. A start. At any rate, he was nowhere near Okay Street, but he felt he was a little bit closer to Coherent Avenue. The biggie was that he hadn't killed anyone...anything, except for that poor little deer. Yikes. If there was any reason to become vegetarian again, that would be it.

    Wrapped in one of Russell's robes and considerably cleaner now, Al stepped out of the bathroom, patted a curious Rusty on the head, and found Sam asleep on the couch. Jeez, he must've been up all night; no wonder he was exhausted. He really needed to catch some shuteye. Al made to quietly slip out of the room when he heard Sam's groggy voice. 

    "Al?"

    Sucking in a breath, he counted to three before turning around. He wiped his nose. "I, uh, didn't want to wake you up."

    "I was just resting my eyes," Sam lied. Yeah, right. He sat up and looked at Al carefully. "You, um...you alright?"

    Al nodded. "Thanks for getting me, Sam," he said quietly. 

    Something caught Sam's eye, and he frowned. "Al, you're hurt." 

    Following Sam's eyeline, Al saw he was looking at a cut across his shoulder, just visible where his robe was open. Self-consciously, he drew the robe in closer. He didn't like being so exposed around Sam. "It's not deep."

    "Still, I should take a look at it."

    "It's fine, Sam, really," Al insisted, "It'll just be another scar." He drew his robe tighter and left it at that. 

    "That's strange; that's exactly where I cut..." Sam stopped himself, then shook his head. It was a coincidence. If he finished what he was saying, that would only add fuel to the fire, so he clapped his hands together and tried to look upbeat. "Never mind. Do you think you're ready to talk about last night?"

    Al adopted a sour expression at Sam's tone and sat down in a chair. Rusty sat loyally beside him. "I'm not a baby, Sam."

    "No, of course not. You just seemed..."

    "Loony toons?" Al finished dryly.

    "Al, you were claiming you were a werewolf."

    "And it happens to be true!" Al insisted, straightening up. He jabbed a finger at Sam and squinted one eye. "Answer me this: How is it you get to be Joe Normal and I always end up leaping into something horrible, huh? Why can't I just have a normal leap? Why do I have to get the concussions and become pregnant and leap into a werewolf? Am I cursed or something?" He paused in thought. "Wait, I guess I am..."

    "Okay, Al, I want you to listen to me carefully," Sam ordered, leaning closer and folding his hands together, "There are no such things as curses, and there is no such thing as a werewolf. They're works of fiction. Made up. Do you understand?"

    "How can you say it's made up when you saw it for yourself, Sam? I tossed you around like a rag doll!" 

    "I know there's an animal out there, Al, but it wasn't a werewolf and it certainly wasn't you."

    "I know it was because I turned into it! You have to believe me!"

    Sam raised his hands to placate him. "I believe you, Al. I believe that you _think_ you turned into a werewolf."

    "So you think I'm crazy," Al stated, folding his arms. 

    "I don't think you're crazy," Sam said, sighing in exasperation, "Al, you're experiencing residuals from Russell. I found these in the bathroom yesterday." Reaching toward the lampstand, he picked up a bottle of pills and handed them to Al. Al furrowed his brows as he read the label. 

    "What's this?"

    "It's an antidepressant, which is sometimes used to treat post-traumatic stress disorder..."

    "So what? He's a veteran, Sam--"

    "...which can lead to panic attacks or flashbacks..."

    "Flashbacks? To a werewolf?" Al chuckled in disbelief, "Sam, are you listening to yourself?"

    "Yes!" Sam shouted, trying to command the conversation again, "I had Gooshie look up Russell's medical history, and when he was in Vietnam, his entire unit was killed in an animal attack. He was the only survivor. After that, he claimed he was a werewolf."

    "See? That was when he was cursed, Sam!"

    "No, Al, don't you get it? When that wolf attacked you in the church, you were flashing back to Russell's attack! You thought you were a werewolf because _Russell_ thought he was a werewolf!"

    For a moment, Al's mouth hung open incredulously. Finally, he said, "So what, you think I made it up in my head? That--that some wolf attacked me, and I _imagined_ that I turned into it?"

    "Yes."

    "No!"

    "If he's suffering PTSD, he could've come up with this scenario in his head to--to explain--"

    "No! I know the difference, Sam!" 

    Rusty whined and lowered his head. Al was on his feet now, fuming, yet Sam remained seated on the couch and infuriatingly calm. 

    Sam pursed his lips and steepled his hands together. "It's happened to me, Al. I've been on leaps where I didn't even know who I was. It _feels_ real. But what's happening here has a logical explanation." He paused, and he lowered his hands. "You asked me before why it was so much easier to believe in science than the supernatural. Now I gotta ask you the same question. Why are you so quick to believe in curses over solid fact?" 

    Al was unable to look Sam in the eye, instead focusing on the floor. "I've seen real evil. That's fact. I don't need any more proof that it exists."

    There was silence for a moment as Al studied the floor and Sam sucked on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "I think that sometimes, for some people, it's easier to come up with a monster to battle...than to admit the real demons they're fighting are within themselves."

    Quiet again. Al's chair creaked as he slowly sat down. "I'm scared, Sam."

    Sam leaned in closer. "Scared that you're a werewolf?"

    "No. That you might be right."

    Al wasn't sure what he was expecting. An "I told you so," maybe. But Sam stayed silent, only offering him a consoling look. From out of nowhere, Al began to laugh. 

    "Al?"

    "You're right about one thing, Sam," Al chuckled, "I'm a terrible priest." 

    Sam smirked. "You didn't hit on anyone in confession, did you?"

    "Of course not. Who do you take me for?" Al asked in mock offense. Then he gave a devilish grin. "I did get someone's number though."

    "No!" Sam gasped, his mouth falling open, "Who?"

    Al shrugged one shoulder. "I can't say. What happens in confession stays in confession, Sam." 

    "You're unbelievable," Sam laughed, shaking his head. 

    "Okay, enough of this soap opera stuff," Al said, getting to his feet, "I'm starved, and knowing you, I'd say you haven't eaten since our lunch yesterday. What do you say we fix something up to eat?" 

    An idea came to Sam, and he lit up. "Actually...lunch doesn't seem like a bad idea. But what do you say we go out to eat?"

\-------

    "When you said we'd go out, Sam, I wasn't expecting to be _working_ for my lunch," Al complained as he poured a ladleful of soup for the next person in line. 

    Sam leaned in and spoke quietly. "Remember what I said in the car about what we need to do to leap?"

    "Yeah, you said most of the victims were homeless."

    Sam had told Al about the murders, although he'd neglected to mention the fact they all appeared to be animal attacks. Until he was sure Al was back to his senses, he didn't want him worrying that he might be behind these deaths. He'd tell him when the information was relevant. 

    "Well, where's the best place to find homeless people?" Sam asked, "Maybe we can find out something useful, like where the attacks took place. It might be they only happen in specific areas." 

    Rusty yipped from his spot on the floor. "Shush, you!" Al said, wagging his ladle at him, "We don't need comments from the peanut gallery. Just be grateful I brought you along." A small bark. "Yeah yeah...wiseass..."

    "Well look what the cat dragged in," came a cheery voice. The woman Sam had met at the start of the leap was at the front of the line. "I sure am glad to see you, Danny! I hadn't seen you since yesterday morning; I thought maybe you'd disappeared like...well, you know." 

    "Oh, no, I was staying with a friend," Sam told her, almost apologetic. He grabbed Al's shoulder and grinned. "This is Russell Gray. Russell, this is...uh..."

    Sam didn't fumble long enough for the woman to notice, as she forcefully shook Al's hand and loudly introduced herself. "Name's Karen Davies. Pleasure to meet ya, sir!" 

    "That's _Father_ Sir, Karen," an old man tipped her off as he walked by. 

    "Oh, you're a priest?"

    "Today I am, yeah," replied Al, shifting a bit.

    "Hey, you mentioned people disappearing," Sam cut in, "Did you notice if there was any sort of pattern?"

    Karen twisted her mouth. "Pattern? What do you mean?"

    "I mean, like where it happened, who it happened to...clues, that might, um...determine who might be next."

    Karen laughed. "What, are you _Spenser: For Hire_ now? Clues?"

    "I just thought I might...do some investigating," Sam explained lamely, although he slumped a bit self-consciously. 

    "All I know is, we gotta watch each other's backs," Karen said, "Other than that, I'll leave things up to the fuzz." She winked, picked up her soup bowl, and moved down the line. 

    "That was smooth, Sam," an amused Al commented through the side of his mouth. 

    "Don't start."

    "'Clues to determine who might be next'? You're supposed to be some homeless kid, remember?"

    Sam pursed his lips. "Well if you're so smart, how would you do it?" 

    "I wouldn't go around acting like Kojak, I'll tell you that much."

    Sam was just thinking up a witty retort when Al's jaw dropped, and he turned to see who he was staring at. Before them stood a pale, raven-haired beauty. Sam dropped his ladle clumsily to the counter with an embarrassing clang. 

    He fumbled to clean up his mess. "Oh, gee, um, uh, I'm sorry, uh..."

    "Don't be sorry," the woman said with a grin.

    Her voice was deep and sensuous, and Sam felt an undeniable attraction to her. His face flushed red and he looked down, stammering, "Well, um, uh..."

    A shit-eating grin in place, Al nudged Sam and butted in. "You'll have to forgive Danny here. He's a bit shy around such lovely women as yourself. But if you wanna stick around for coffee later, I'm sure he'd love to get to know you better..."

    "NO!" Sam yelped, mortified. His eyes widened and he addressed the woman. "I mean, not that you aren't--I mean I'm--" He sighed and hung his head. "Oh boy..."

    "Relax, cowboy..." the woman said with a small smile. She ran her hand gently over his and continued down the line. 

    "Hoohoo, Sam, she was eyeing you like you were her next meal!"

    "Thanks a lot, Al," Sam said in irritation, his ears still red. 

    "Who loves ya, baby?" Al said with a smirk. Rusty yipped and he jerked his thumb behind him. "See? Even Rusty agrees with me." Another bark, and Al twisted his head back. "Oh, I see."

    "What?" asked Sam curiously. 

    "He needs to go make."

    " _I'll_ take him." Sam said quickly, giving Al an admonishing look as he grabbed Rusty's leash.

    "Yeah, go cool off, _cowboy_ ," Al teased, "You wouldn't want to be thinking _dirty thoughts_ about that nice young lady."

    "Cut it out, Al; I mean it."

    The smirk remained on Al's face, but he left it alone for now, "Make sure he goes number one _and_ number two, eh?" 

    With another long-suffering look, Sam was out the door with Rusty leading.

    "I've been thinking."

    Al glanced behind him and had to do a double take. Vanessa was back, wearing another gaudy outfit, and leaning against the counter. Aw jeez! Now was not the time for another visit from _Poltergeist_ , even though her reality was up for debate. Al wasn't sure which was the better option, her being a ghost or him being loopy. He was willing to accept that he hadn't really turned into a werewolf, but this woman was just too grating to have come from _his_ brain. 

    "Did you hear me? Helloooo?"

    Al closed his eyes and repeated a mantra to himself, hoping she'd disappear. "Just ignore her, just ignore her, just ignore her..." 

    "Fine, whatever. I've decided I'm going to forgive you," Vanessa said resolutely, tapping her foot. 

    Nope, not doing it. Al spun around. "What? Forgive _me_? Who's haunting who here?"

    "Believe me, if I could choose who could see me, it definitely wouldn't be you!" 

    "The feeling's mutual, sweetheart."

    Vanessa rolled her eyes. "That doesn't even make sense."

    "It doesn't have to; you're not real." As if he'd gotten in a really good dig, Al smiled proudly and turned back to his work. 

    "Excuse me?" Vanessa gasped, "I'm so real!" 

    "I'm not listening," Al said, sing-song, which earned him a strange look from the person he was serving. He smiled nervously. 

\-------

    "I don't have all day, you know," Sam said, hands on his hips. Rusty looked up from the tree he was sniffing, woofed, and returned to whatever was interesting him. He didn't listen to him nearly as well as Al. The mutt had formed an odd attachment to Al for some reason, and although Al wouldn't admit it, he seemed to like the dog too. It was easy for Sam to see why; Rusty was incredibly smart. Which meant he knew how to train his humans. 

    Sam grinned and shook his head. "Fine, do what you want."

    Unexpectedly, Rusty lifted his head and growled, his hackles raised. It was a complete 180. Obviously, something Sam had done had set him off. 

    "H-Hey, take it easy," Sam said cautiously, "I didn't mean anything by it."

    "Maybe he smells something he doesn't like."

    He hadn't heard anyone approach, and he jerked around to see the beautiful woman from the soup kitchen standing behind him. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses now, and her skin looked even paler under the afternoon sun. She looked...stunning, actually. Her porcelain skin and dark hair were a total dissonance to the world around her, gold and orange with fall. Sam felt a shiver run through him, and it wasn't entirely from the cold. 

    Rusty began to bark and pull at his leash. "Oh, I'm sorry," Sam said, confused at this outburst, "I don't know what's gotten into him!" It took all of his strength to keep Rusty at bay. He _really_ didn't like this woman. It was so strange, Sam thought. Other than getting slightly territorial over him and Al entering his home, Rusty seemed to get along with every person he could slobber on. 

    "Let him go," the woman breathed. 

    Sam wasn't sure why, but he immediately followed her command, letting the leash fall from his hand. Rusty snarled and started toward the woman, but when she met his eyes, he whined and backed away. Sam frowned. 

    "How did...?"

    "Shh..." She was in front of him now, and she ran her pale hands over his chest. For some reason, he didn't stop her. Sam could feel his skin grow hot and he closed his eyes, swallowing. Inside, he knew this was wrong, but he couldn't make himself pull away. He wanted her...he _needed_ her close to him...Something very strange was happening. It was entirely unlike him to give into such urges, especially with a woman he didn't know in the slightest, but he found himself drawing closer to her. His breath caught in his throat as she leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. "Is it true, cowboy? Do you want to get to know me?"

    "I..." Sam furrowed his brows. He shouldn't be here. This leap was getting stranger by the minute, and he needed to pull himself together and figure out what was happening. He pulled away from her and began to leave. "I-I'm sorry. I have to go."

    "No. Stay."

    Suddenly, her arm wrapped around him in an iron grip, surprising him with her strength. Before he had time to react, she'd grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head aside, and bit into his neck. 

    A sudden jolt of pain ran through him. Sam screamed. What was going on?! As panic set in, he tried with all his might to pull away, but it was as if she were an immovable statue, arms of stone trapping him there. He yelled again, and one of those impossibly strong hands clamped over his mouth. The woman pulled briefly away from his bleeding neck and whispered into his ear again. "Stop screaming." 

    There were no words for the terror he felt as she sunk her teeth into him again, gnawing and sucking, his words strangled in his muffled mouth. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, as the pain set in and his world started to go black.

\-------

    "I'm gonna hold my breath until you help me," Vanessa said, sucking in a big gulp of air. 

    "That'd be a neat trick for a ghost," Al chuckled under his breath.

    Vanessa blew out her breath and pointed. "Aha! So you admit that I'm real!"

    "Excuse me," Al said to the person in the front of the line. He retreated to the back, Vanessa clacking behind him, then abruptly pivoted to face her. "I don't know, okay? Just _please_ leave me _alone_ , would ya?"

    "I can't. You're my only hope! Otherwise, I could be stuck here, not alive, not really dead...forever." Vanessa was somber now. Gone was the whining and moaning, instead replaced with a look of plea. Al couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Damn it, some of Russell really was rubbing off on him. But the thought of being stuck in ghost limbo forever seemed pretty unfair. Lordy, Sam was going to be cheesed off when he heard about this. 

    "If I, uh...help you out...you can move on to the hair salon in the sky?" Al wobbled his hand toward the ceiling. Vanessa's face lit up and she nodded fervently. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...okay. Okay, I'll do it."

    Vanessa raised her arms and spun in a circle. "Weeeeee!"

    "If--" Al raised a finger, "If you promise to stop being so annoying! Deal?"

    "Deal!" Vanessa held her hand out to shake his, and just as before, she yanked it back. "Oh, whoops!" 

    "I'm gonna regret this," Al sighed at the ceiling. 

    That's when his ears picked up a small sound and he knitted his brows. It was a scratching...then a whining. Rusty! It was coming from outside the back door. Al quickly opened it and the poor dog rushed inside, tail between his legs. When he saw the leash dragging on the ground behind him, Al got worried. 

    "Aww! What a cute wittle puppy!" Vanessa cooed in an annoying falsetto.

    "Rusty? What's goin' on? Where's Sam?" 

    The dog barked and ran outside again. Unquestioningly, Al followed. 

    "Hey, where're ya goin'?"

\-------

    Al didn't know where his life had gone to lead him into a situation where his conversation with a ghost was interrupted to follow Lassie's ugly cousin around, and yet here he was. But he didn't much care how silly he looked, because something told him Sam has gotten into trouble again. Maybe he was picking up some of that leaper's intuition Sam always had. Or maybe he was just being pessimistic. Yeah, that was likely it. He needed to stop worrying so much. Rusty had probably gotten away from Sam, and right about now he was probably wandering around in circles looking for him. The kid was considered the next Einstein, and a mangy mutt had gotten the best of him. That had to be pretty damaging to his ego. 

    A familiar scent lingered in the air and Al came to a halt. What was it? It didn't smell entirely unpleasant, in fact it smelled kind of nice, but for some reason it reminded him of something terrible...

    Just up ahead, he saw something that made his heart stop. Partially obscured by bushes, he could see a pair of legs...and a pool of blood. _Oh no. Oh no no no. Please don't let it be him_ , Al thought with alarm as he ran ahead. As Sam's terror-stricken face came into view, his sense of panic instantly shot from 2 to 200.

    "Oh my god! SAM!" Al practically slid to his friend's side. Sam was staring imploringly at him, eyes wild, his body trembling, as he checked his injuries. Shit! The kid's neck was red and chewed up and horrific, and it was spilling more of his life onto the ground with each passing second. Thinking quickly, Al pulled off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. "Sam! Sam, can you hear me?"

    Sam's eyes rolled toward him, and his mouth moved, but no sound came out. Abruptly, he coughed, and more blood spat out and dribbled onto his chin. 

    "Oh god...Sam, Sam, just hang on!" Al pleaded with him. He looked up to see a small crowd starting to gather around them. "Somebody call 9-1-1!" he barked, "NOW!" A man nodded and ran off to presumably find a payphone. 

    "Al-l..." Sam finally managed to choke out. 

    "I'm here, buddy. I'm here," Al assured him, grabbing his hand. "You're gonna be okay. Okay?" Sam managed a small nod, but his eyes began to drift closed, so Al shook him. "Hey! Hey, don't pass out on me. Stay with me, Sammy."

    Sam obediently opened his eyes, but they were dim, blinking slowly. If Al didn't keep on top of him, he could easily slip away. 

    "You listen to me, Sam," Al ordered sternly, gripping his hand tightly, "If you die on me, I'll never forgive you." Oh god, there was so much blood. It brought back memories Al would much sooner forget, but he had to bury those feelings deep inside him. Sam needed him now. 

    "A-Al...where are you?"

    "I'm here, Sam," he repeated, squeezing his hand, "I'm right here." He pressed his jacket harder onto his friend's wound, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply _. Don't let him see you lose it, Al. Lead him off the battlefield._

    The man who had run for help returned. "An ambulance is on the way. Should be about fifteen minutes."

    Attempting an encouraging grin, Al looked down at his friend. "You hear that, Sam? Help's on the way."

    Sam didn't move. His eyes were staring skyward, unblinking. 

    "Sam?" Al grabbed him by the shoulders and jostled him, "Sam!" When this failed to elicit a response, he leaned his ear toward Sam's mouth...he wasn't breathing. Damn it, he wasn't breathing! A fresh bout of hysteria began to well up inside Al, but he held it back as he let whatever medical training he had take over. 

    A few people in the crowd whispered anxiously to each other as Al began to perform CPR. 

    "Come on, Sam," he begged as he labored over him, "Come back to me, kid!" 

    He finished the first set of chest compressions and started mouth-to-mouth. There was no change, and he began the cycle again. Oh hell, he hoped he was doing this right. He'd had CPR training, but he hadn't had much opportunity to use it in recent years. Sam was the doctor. Al was...he was better trained at getting injuries than treating them. Damn, this was hard work. Sam had better be grateful to him when he came around.

    "Sam, I know you can hear me! Wake up, damn it!" He was using his admiral voice now, and Sam knew to listen up when he pulled rank on him. But still, he showed no sign of having heard anything. How many cycles was this now? Al wished the kid weren't so stubborn! Doctors made the worst patients. 

    He breathed into Sam's mouth, pulled away, and stopped, just for a moment, to catch his own breath. Sam's lips had begun to turn a pale purple, but other than that he didn't look any different than when Al had started, and that was...he couldn't think how long ago it was. He couldn't think of anything but saving Sam. What was he doing resting right now? There wasn't time for that! He began again.

    "Sir..."

    "Not now, damn it!" Al yelled, pushing into Sam's chest with all his might. Someone gripped his arm and he turned to see a paramedic beside him. 

    "Sir, we're here to help."

    Unable to form a proper response, Al nodded and backed away as the man who spoke to him and another paramedic moved in to continue CPR and treat his neck. A third paramedic, a woman, brought over a defibrillator, cut away Sam's shirt, and began to hook him up. 

    Al was terrified and exhausted and shocked and anxious and everything all at once. So he was no good at this stuff. These people were trained professionals. They'd fix Sam. Any minute now, he was gonna cough up more of that yucky stuff, and they'd take him to a hospital, and pretty soon he'd be complaining about hospital food. Al couldn't blame him. He'd never eaten a single thing he liked in a hospital. Maybe they put something in the food to make it taste worse than it really was, so the patients would have more motivation to feel better and get the hell out. He had a lot of theories about hospitals. Why did they make those gowns so flimsy? And why didn't they hire more attractive nurses? Why did everything have to be so sterile and white and smell like coffins? 

    The paramedics had stopped working. One of them shook their head tiredly, said something unheard, and the others nodded. The woman began to remove the defibrillator and Al tensed up.

    "What're you stopping for?" he demanded as he ran toward them, "He's dying here!" 

    The man who had first cut in stood up and gave him a consoling look he hated. "I'm sorry to tell you this, sir, but we weren't able to revive him."

    The words made Al furious. "You can't just give up on him! You're supposed to help people!"

    "There wasn't anything more we could do."

    "Get out of my way!" Al spat out, shoving him aside and falling to his knees beside Sam. He began to administer CPR once more. If these damn paramedics weren't going to do it, he would! He wasn't going to give up so easily! 

    "I'm afraid it's too late," the female paramedic said gently, grabbing him by the arm. He would have none of it, and he pushed her roughly away. 

    "Shut your mouth! You don't know a damn thing!" He pressed down again and again, "Come on, Sammy, get up! Sam, you listen to me! You get up right now!"

    The female paramedic started again. "I'm sorry. We tried, but...he was gone when we got here. He must've passed away at least ten minutes before we arrived."

    "Stop it!" Al shouted lividly, "Stop talking about him like he's dead! SAM!" He stopped his compressions and panted, searching for any sort of change in his friend. Sam just laid there, motionless, like stone. But Al knew he was Sam, somewhere in there. Taking him by the shoulders, he shook him violently again. "Sam, this isn't funny anymore! Now come back! That's an order!" 

    Those eyes. It was those damn eyes. It was like Sam was looking out, but nobody was home. Al had seen those eyes, on too many occasions and on too many faces. He could see, as if it were yesterday, the eyes of a soldier in the jungle, lying with half his face in the mud, staring at him in his tiger cage for three days. That face, and countless others, were burned into his mind, and now Sam was giving him that same look. 

    Tears began to well up in Al's eyes, hot and betraying, and his voice cracked, "Sam, please..."

    Whoever was staring at him, it wasn't Sam. Nothing remained of him in this body, this broken shell, lying in a pool of blood. The blood that now covered Al's clothes and hands. 

    Al blinked, ran his hand over his mouth, and his body went numb. This wasn't reality. He could only pray that true reality was that he'd been struck by lightning and now lay in a hospital bed in New Mexico, and all of this was some horrible nightmare his drug-addled mind had concocted. That was the best option. Because if this was really happening, he didn't want to be a part of this reality any longer.

    He couldn't feel anything. 

    A cry escaped his lips. "Sam..." 

    His friend, as always, remained silent. Pulling him closer, Al clutched Sam to him as if he could will him to return, as if there were some small hope of keeping him if he never let him go, and his body was racked with sobs. 

    The two rocked back and forth, and the blood began to dry.


	4. Chapter 4

    They were zipping up the body bag. 

    Al wanted to look away, because closing it brought about a finality he wasn't ready to accept. In his mind, if they didn't zip up that bag, Sam was being loaded onto that ambulance to be treated at the hospital. Instead of being brought to...where dead people went. But Al couldn't look away. He couldn't abandon Sam now. He owed him that much. 

    This should have made Al feel sad. He should have felt total despair, a sorrow so strong it threatened to drag him down to depths even he couldn't claw his way out of. But he didn't feel any of that. Instead, he found himself consumed by rage. If it weren't for the police, he could kill someone, and that was only just barely holding him back. He needed something to focus his fury on. 

    "What happened to him?" Al asked in a low voice. The crowd that had gathered there exchanged quiet conversations and shifty gazes. "I said, what happened to him?!" he demanded, and a few people gasped and backed away. "Come on, someone had to have seen something! Somebody answer me!" 

    "W-We don't know..." someone finally spoke up timidly, "No one was here."

    "Bullshit! There's plenty of houses on this street!" Al gestured toward the neighborhood, where some families stood in their yards to watch. He shouted at them, and a few of them retreated into their homes. "Someone must have heard him! Why didn't any of you help him?! You're all cowards! He needed your help!" 

    A policeman grabbed him. "Mr. Gray, you need to calm down. We're investigating why--"

    "Don't tell me to calm down!" Al yelled, yanking himself away, "My best friend is dead!" 

    He stopped. It was like a punch to the gut, saying it out loud. Al sank to his knees, speechless, and he didn't have the energy to fight any more. The policeman was saying something to him, but he couldn't hear it. 

    Sam was dead.

\-------

    There were very few times in Al's life when he'd found himself faced with unimaginable, inconsolable grief. His life had dealt him a lot of garbage, and he'd prided himself on how he could bounce back from anything thrown his way, but this was just one goddamn tragedy too many. It was too much to ask of one person. Damn it, it was too much! 

    Sam almost looked like he was sleeping. Like any second now, he'd sit up and give Al one of those goofy Beckett grins, and everything would go back to normal.

    But he wouldn't. That wasn't some bed he was lying on; it was a table at the morgue. 

    How could this have happened? After everything Sam had done? All of those people he helped, lives he saved? It seemed impossible that God, Time, Fate, or Whatever would allow this happen. Not to Sam. Ever since his first leap, he'd risked everything he had for total strangers, and _this_ was what he was rewarded with? Being stuck on some slab with a bunch of corpses? It was bullshit! If for whatever sick reason someone needed to die so the Big Guy could get his rocks off, why did it have to be Sam? 

    Al had seen God, Time, Fate, or Whatever leap Sam for reasons that seemed so small. To come up with the lyrics to Peggy Sue, to rescue a cat from a tree. What the hell did any of that matter anyway? When it came to things that were truly important, God was suddenly too busy to give a damn. Not when his father got cancer, not when Trudy passed away, not when he was trapped in Vietnam and Beth left him for that sleazeball...and not when Sam really needed him. Was Sam not worth saving to Him? Who the hell gave God the right to make that decision? He was a good man, damn it! And more importantly, he was his best friend! 

    Now more than ever, it was a sick irony that Al had been leaped into a priest. As far as he was concerned, this cut his ties with God for good. Nothing could make this right. He hoped Whoever was listening could hear his disavowal and know how furious he was. He hoped Whoever was listening knew how wrong they were. 

    It was easy to concoct scenarios in his mind where things had gone differently. All of those nagging little what-ifs, where he was quicker and Sam had fought just a little bit harder. Heroic scenarios where he'd arrived in time to fight off whatever had killed Sam, where he had gone out instead and taken his place. Each time, he saved his friend. But none of it amounted to a single iota, because the end result was still that Sam was gone forever. 

    Al ran his hands slowly over his face. "Sam," he sighed, "You know I don't do so good around dead bodies." He let out a nervous chuckle and waited, as if Sam would reciprocate. Of course he wouldn't. "Kid, I...I really let you down. The one time I should've been looking out for you, and you...you end up here. It doesn't, uh...it doesn't seem like sorry is going to cut it." He sniffed and pressed a couple fingers to his lips, holding back another exhausting set of tears. In his head, he could almost hear the Boy Scout now, telling him it was going to be okay, so noble and naive and disgustingly optimistic, and a lie. It wouldn't be okay, not ever. His voice cracked. "Sam...what am I gonna do?"

    Everything was ass-backwards. Al was trapped here in 1988, inside the body of a stranger, meant to fix some sort of cosmic screw up in time. But he couldn't imagine doing this without Sam. He couldn't, or wouldn't, he wasn't sure which. All he knew was he didn't care what happened. He wasn't cut out for this leaping thing anyway. He felt as helpless, alone, and afraid as he had ever been. 

    The Project was meant to have a contingency plan for this sort of thing, in case a leap went badly and Sam didn't make it. They knew it was always a possibility. But any time it had been brought up, Al would make an excuse to put it off. He had too much paperwork. He'd planned a date night with Tina. The fire alarms needed an unexpected inspection. Anything to avoid addressing something that wasn't going to happen anyway. Sam was coming home.

    That's all Sam wanted. To come home. 

    "...dmiral Ca...vicci?" 

    Al glanced up and screwed up his face. Vaguely, he could make out Gooshie's form crackling in, a semi-translucent static. He pushed some buttons on the handlink, and his voice cleared up.

    "Admiral Calavicci, can you hear me?"

    "I can hear you."

    "Oh thank goodness!" Gooshie sighed with relief, "We ran into a bit of a jam trying to get through to you guys. I'm sorry the signal isn't better, but you were the only one we could lock onto, and, well, Ziggy never could sync up our brainwaves that well." He chuckled nervously and the handlink squealed. "Well it's true, Ziggy." He addressed Al again. "Anyway, the Project was worried. We've completely lost contact with Dr. Beckett! Did something happen to him?" 

    "Yeah. Something happened to him." Gooshie waited expectantly, and Al looked toward Sam's body. 

    Gooshie turned around and went white with shock. All he could manage was incoherent gibberish. "Oh, er, uh--I-I see--I, um..." 

    "Who screwed this one up?" Al asked icily, "You or Ziggy?"

    "I-I beg your pardon?"

    "You're in the future, for chrissake! How could you not know the next victim was Sam?!"

    Gooshie spluttered and nearly dropped the handlink. "W-We didn't know! Ziggy w-was--"

    "Ziggy was what?" questioned Al angrily, "Having another one of her fits? Meanwhile, Sam was being killed, and that useless bucket of bolts didn't do a damn thing to stop it! You might as well send the whole thing to the scrap heap for as much good as she is!"

    "Believe me, Admiral C-Calavicci, if we'd known this was going to happen, we would've d-done everything in our power to stop it!" 

    Suddenly, Al's heat lessened as he was struck with a thought. "Maybe you still can."

    "Admiral?"

    Yes, this was it. What an idiot he'd been! After all, they were in the business of fixing things in time, weren't they? And this was something that definitely needed fixing!

    "Send someone back," Al said, a plan forming in his mind, "Send someone into the Accelerator Chamber, to before Sam got killed. Or-Or figure out how to retrieve me, and then send me back! We can still save him!"

    "That's...that's impossible," Gooshie explained as gently as he could, "The signal's weak enough as it is. If we tried to leap someone back now, we could risk overloading the system."

    "Who gives a damn about the system?!" Al's fire was quickly returning. 

    "Admiral, it would be a complete nuclear meltdown! Not to mention, it could kill whoever the leaper was!" 

    "I don't care!" Al shot back, pacing. He was going mad. "What the hell good is it having a time machine if we can't even use it?! What use are any of you?!" 

    Gooshie silently looked at the Imaging Chamber floor, his face flushing red. "I-I'm sorry, Admiral...If I could help Dr. Beckett, I--"

    "Oh, enough with this 'Dr. Beckett' horseshit! His name was Sam!" Al pointed at Sam's body, his eyes getting moist again. "And he died here in 1988! He's gonna be buried, with someone else's face, under someone else's name, and nobody will ever know he's here! I can't even give him his own name! Christ, Gooshie! What the hell good did I ever do him?!" His tears began to fall freely again, and he turned away. 

    "I'm sorry, Admiral...I-I have to go." 

    _Clunk-shoom_.

    Al was alone again.

\-------

    For a long time, Gooshie waited in the empty Imaging Chamber, not quite sure how to process what he'd just seen. He never did well with loss. He'd bawled for a week when his hamster died in the fourth grade, and he'd never had a pet since. 

    Gooshie had known Dr. Beckett for nearly as long as he'd known Admiral Calavicci. He was hired onto Project Starbright just before Dr. Beckett was brought on, in 1984, which meant they'd been working together for 16 years now. But they were always Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci. The two of them had tried several times to get Gooshie to call them by their first names, but he'd insisted that was how he preferred it.

    Never get too personally involved. He was friendly with everyone, sure, but he had to keep himself that one step removed. If he didn't get involved, no one could let him down. Not like the kids who used to bully him in school. Not like his father who left his mother to raise the kids alone. All he wanted was to keep his nose down and make everyone happy, and there would be no trouble. 

    He wished he wasn't the one who would have to tell them. Anyone but him. He didn't like to be the bearer of bad news. Putting on a brave face, he inhaled deeply and opened the Imaging Chamber.

    Never get too personally involved.

\-------

    Russell's couch creaked as Al sunk into it, a bottle of whiskey clasped in his hand. His mind clouded with dark thoughts as he contemplated the amber liquid inside. It had been quite a while since he'd met his old friend Jack, he thought. Sam wouldn't want him to fall off the wagon again, not after he'd been doing so well. But it didn't matter now what Sam wanted. Nothing mattered. 

    A soft whine came from below. Rusty cocked his head at him sadly. "Don't give me that look," Al grumbled, "Guilt trips won't work on me." He opened the bottle and took a swig. 

    "I saw the whole thing. I'm...I'm sorry."

    Al gasped and nearly choked on his drink. Vanessa stood beside him, dressed somberly, with tears in her eyes. How could a ghost cry? How could a ghost do anything? If she were, in fact, a ghost. Al hoped for the first time that she was. Another faint shot of optimism ran through him.

    "Vanessa, you said that...that, uh, you could talk to other dead people, right?"

    "Sometimes, yeah," Vanessa answered, shifting nervously.

    "Can you--Can..." Al closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He had to take the chance, even if he was completely nuts. "Can you talk to Sam?"

    Vanessa frowned sadly. "No. I'm sorry, sweetie."

    That optimism rapidly deflated, like a balloon being pricked with a pin. "What do you mean, no? Why not?"

    "Because he's not a ghost."

    "What are you talking about? He's dead!"

    "Well, sometimes you come back a ghost, and sometimes you...don't," Vanessa explained with a feeble shrug.

    "How the hell is that fair?" Al questioned hotly, "Why is it you get to come back, and he's just lying there dead?!" 

    "I…I don't know..."

    "He didn't deserve this!" Reaching for whatever was within arm's length, Al grabbed the lamp and smashed it against the wall. As if the dam had been broken, he began to trash the house, breaking whatever he could, trying and failing to get some sort of release. Once this outburst subsided, he fell back onto the couch, let his head fall into his hands, and became silent. 

    "I'm...I'm sure this happened for a reason."

    That was the last friggin' straw. Fuming, Al lifted his head from his hands and asked, "Oh, because God planned it, right? It's all part of some grand design?"

    "Isn't that what you believe?" Vanessa questioned, confused, "I mean, you of all people--"

    "No, it's not," Al spat back. He pointed at her with narrowed eyes. "Lemme tell you something, sister. There is no plan for us. Sometimes terrible things happen to good people, and no one is going to do a single thing to help you out. And I'm not gonna sit here and wait for some goddamn miracle to happen, because it's never coming!" With that, he slouched back onto the couch and took another drink.

    Vanessa played with the hem of her shirt and bit her nails thoughtfully. "I think there's a reason for everything," she said softly, "I think there's a reason I met you. Like...maybe it isn't always obvious why something happens, but nothing happens for, like...nothing."

    "Yeah, well..." Al stopped to take another drink. "I'm having a real hard time trying to figure out what possible reason would be good enough for this to happen."

    "God works in mysterious ways." Vanessa shrugged. Al remained silent. Yeah, right. She could stay in dreamland all she wanted. She was dead anyway, so it's not like any of this mattered to her. She spoke up again, consolingly, "At least you were with him."

    "A lot of good that did," Al replied bitterly.

    "I was alone when I died," Vanessa said, pressing her lips together and sitting on the couch next to him, "It was a mugger. He stabbed me...and I bled to death in an alley." She grinned sadly. "I only had five dollars on me."

    Somewhere inside, Al felt sorry for her. His face softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." 

    Vanessa shrugged again. "Well like, how could you? But the point is...it would've meant something if someone was there. It meant something to him."

    Al nodded. He really hoped she was right. He hoped...he hoped the kid knew what he meant to him when he...He hoped the kid knew. And that he didn't suffer near the end. Hesitantly, he asked, "What was it like?"

    "What?"

    "Dying. I mean, did it...did it hurt?"

    Staring at the wall, Vanessa squinted her eyes reminiscently. She rested her chin in her hand as she thought. "It did at first. But then, it was like...I was floating outside my body, charged with electricity...and I was free."

    Al managed a small smile, and expelled a tiny breath that might've been a laugh. "Like leaping."

    Vanessa didn't ask what he meant by that. She moved to pat his knee, then pulled back when she remembered. "It's not so bad being dead," she said confidently, "It'll be okay." 

    "I, uh...I want to be alone."

    Vanessa faded away, and Al took another drink. He stayed on that couch until the bottle was empty and he conked out. 

\-------

    Sam was cold. Downright chilly, even. He wasn't sure where he was, only that he was lying on something hard and uncomfortable. Had he leaped? Leaped to where, exactly? It was too dark to tell.

    Well no kidding. Maybe that's because his eyes were closed. One eye opened first, to gauge his surroundings. His other eye shot open and he gasped. Metal surrounded him on all sides, encapsulating him in a small space he prayed wasn't what he feared it was. 

    Among Sam's list of his greatest fears, being buried alive had to be up there. It was always a worry in his mind that one day he would leap into someone who had met that unfortunate fate, and take him down with them. But...he wasn't in a coffin, he was in...a drawer. Naked. With a toe tag. Gulp. It had happened! It had finally happened! He didn't think he was claustrophobic, but at this moment he was. 

    "H-Help!" he croaked out. His throat felt dry from disuse. He cleared it and tried again. "Somebody get me out of here!"

    He began to pound on the metal surrounding him, slamming his hands into the panel above his head, desperately calling out for someone, anyone to hear him. He hoped someone was working right now, because he couldn't stand to be in here any longer. Jarringly, he was jolted back as the drawer was opened and he was blinded by the lights. 

    Bolting up with a sharp breath of relief, he turned to see a very shocked morgue attendant. "Thank God you were here," Sam panted, "I could've died in there!"

\-------

    Russell Gray's home was filled with the sound of Al Calavicci snoring like a chainsaw. He was sprawled out over the couch in a position his back would pay for when he woke up, the empty bottle of whiskey fallen over on the floor where he'd dropped it. Rusty lay loyally by his side, licking lips that murmured in a gravelly voice. 

    _Brr-RING!_

    "Wop bop a loo bop!" Al snorted, suddenly wide awake. Ugh! He realized his mouth was covered in slime and he wiped it with the back of his hand, pushing Rusty to the floor. The phone was ringing on the other side of the couch. Groaning, he wiped his face, but he could smell his breath on his hands and he pulled away. Holy shinola. He'd almost forgotten how bad hangovers could be, and this one was a doozy. He knew how to fix that: more alcohol. But first...

    He flopped over the couch and snagged the phone. "Yeah?"

    "Is this Father Russell Gray?"

    "That's what they tell me," Al answered, holding the empty whiskey bottle to one eye to check for anything left. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Zounds.

    "I'm calling in regards to Daniel Price."

    Al closed his eyes. For one brief second, he'd not thought about Sam. It was too early in the morning for this. "Look, I already told the police everything that happened. I can't tell you anything else, so why don't you just leave me alone?"

    "You don't understand, Father. This is Mercy Hospital, and we have a Daniel Price here. He asked us to call you."

    Completely deadpan, Al blinked, checked the bottle again, and hiccupped. "What?"

\-------

    Ripping through the front doors of the hospital, Al stuffed half of yesterday's shirt down his pants as he ran toward the reception desk. 

    "Can I help you?" the woman asked with concern. He must have looked like hell. He reeked of booze, had a five o'clock shadow, and, oh yeah, his clothes were still caked with dried blood. 

    "Yeah, I'm here to see Sam Beckett," he panted, then shook his head, "I mean--Price, Daniel Price."

    The receptionist clacked on her keyboard and read the screen. "Let's see...he's in room 1265. Just down that way." She'd barely pointed in the right direction before Al had taken off. 

    _Don't get your hopes up, Al. It might be someone with the same name, or some loon off the street claiming to be him. Or...or maybe the real Danny Price leaped back, after..._

    It could be anyone. Al had to be prepared for anything. He stopped at the door, steeled himself, and then opened it. And his jaw nearly fell to the floor. 

    If he were ever going to call something a miracle, it might be right about now. 

    There was Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed as if nothing had ever happened, save for a bandage on his neck and hand. Overall, he was looking pretty good for an alleged corpse. He looked up at Al and flashed one of those Beckett grins he thought he'd never see again. "Al!" 

    "Sam!" Al exclaimed, flabbergasted. In two seconds flat, he had his arms wrapped tightly around his friend. This had better not be a dream, because if it was, someone was getting their ass kicked. He just couldn't believe it. A million questions were running through his mind, how being the primary one. Yesterday, Sam was dead, and now here he was, big as life. No pun intended. After the emotional rollercoaster Al had been on the past few days, he was about ready to fall over. Or that might've just been the liquid courage he regretted he'd indulged in.

    Sam pulled away and squinted at him, his eyebrows upturned. No wonder he was weirded out, Al thought; he'd just been through a horribly traumatic experience. He couldn't imagine what was running through his noggin. 

    "Al...have you been drinking?" 

    At first, Al was stunned mute. Then, he burst into laughter. "Have I been drink--Hoho, have I been drinking? Oh, Sam!" It was just so absurd. He had witnessed him lying in a pool of his own blood, and now, his first question was whether or not he had been drinking? The kid had no sense of priorities!

    Sam eyed him cautiously. "Are you okay?" 

    "Yeah, kid," Al answered, wiping happy tears from his eyes, "Yeah. It's just good to see ya." 

    "You have blood on your shirt."

    Al looked down. "Oh, that...uh, that'll come out with some vinegar or somethin'. Don't stress about it." Poor kid. It was just like him to be worried about getting blood on his shirt, of all things. He must not know how to deal with what had happened to him just yet. Who could blame him? Al was sure Sam didn't want to revisit his whole ordeal just now, so he changed the subject. Uncertainly, he placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Never mind that. How're you feeling? No, that's a stupid question; forget I asked, uh..."

    "I'm fine, Al," Sam assured him, knitting his brows, "Just confused, mostly. The doctor said I was attacked or something?"

    "You...you don't remember?" 

    "No. I remember taking Rusty out, and then next thing I know...I'm waking up in a morgue."

    "Oh god..." Al hadn't even thought of that. If _he'd_ woken up in a morgue, he would've had a heart attack right then and there! And Sam didn't even know what had happened? He must have been scared out of his mind! Oh boy. This was a toughie. Al traced his chin thoughtfully and blinked as he tried to figure out how to respond. "Uh, Sam...They were...I mean, _I_ was sure you were dead..."

    After a moment, Sam chuckled as if he had just been told a very ludicrous joke. "Obviously, someone made a mistake," he shrugged and explained, "I mean...it happens. Sometimes, when the heart rate is slow enough, it can give the _illusion_ that someone is dead. But I just never thought that I..." A thought occurred to him as he really took in Al's disheveled appearance and put two and two together. When he realized what his friend must have gone through, he was filled with guilt. He felt even guiltier when he realized that was why he'd been drinking again. "Al...you thought I was dead. God, I'm sorry you had to go through that. That's horrible."

    Al was incredulous. "You're apologizing for dyin' on me? Get outta here! I'm just glad you're alive!"

    "I just don't understand what happened....I mean, how bad was it?"

    "...It was pretty bad, Sam." Al went quiet, and Sam again took in the blood on his shirt.

    "But...I'm completely fine now. This doesn't even hurt," said Sam in confusion, motioning to the bandage on his neck, "If I was so badly injured, shouldn't I be lying in a hospital bed?"

    "You _are_ in a hospital bed."

    "Well, yes, but I'm only here for observation. Otherwise, I'm fine. The doctor said he couldn't explain it." Sam screwed up his mouth. He couldn't make sense of what had happened. Hell, he couldn't even remember it. "And why can't I remember what happened?"

    "Just be glad you don't, kid." Al lowered his eyes and rolled his fingers together in contemplation, as if subconsciously he had a cigar in hand. When he spoke next, he was very serious. "Sam..."

    "Yeah, Al?" 

    He looked up with an arched eyebrow. "You didn't have to take being a pain in the neck so literally."

    When the bad joke finally hit him, Sam groaned and fell backwards onto the bed. "Oh, Al!"

\-------

    "Uh...I might need to clean up a little."

    Sam took in Russell's trashed home as Al abashedly scratched at his stubble. It looked like a train had run through there, or a particularly misbehaved Italian admiral. This was miles away from the neat simplicity the house had when they'd first entered it this leap. The lamp was still smashed on the ground, along with a handful of other items, evidence of Al's fit of anger from the night before. Sam had flashes of an Al Calavicci he'd previously known, drunkenly smashing a vending machine with a hammer, and again felt guilty. 

    A low whine came from behind the couch and a blocky brown head peeped around the corner.

    "Heya Rusty," Sam greeted cheerfully, outstretching his arms, "I'm back." Rusty whined again and disappeared behind the couch. "Huh. What's gotten into him?" 

    "Who knows? Dog's an oddball." Al chuckled and shrugged. "Listen, I'm gonna need to change out of these clothes yesterday, you know what I'm saying?"

    "Yeah, Al." 

    "Don't go dyin' on me again while I'm gone."

    Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to Al to be facetious. "I'll try to resist."

    With a smirk and a nod, Al had exited into Russell's bedroom. Well, Sam thought he might as well help clean up. After all, part of this was his fault, he supposed, even if he didn't exactly remember what happened to him. This leap had left him with more questions than answers. 

    He began to pick up lamp pieces.

\-------

    As Al unbuttoned his shirt, he mulled over everything that had transpired recently. Sam was back. Which was pretty damn good news, worth singing a musical number or two, but also incredibly confusing and surreal. On the car ride back, Sam had described several cases where someone had been declared clinically dead but revived later, but Al was still having trouble reconciling the terrified Sam who had been choking on his own blood with the Sam currently standing in his borrowed living room. Even if he hadn't flatlined, he would still be in critical condition right now, and yet here he was, walking around fresh as a daisy. Which meant that maybe, just maybe...this was a miracle.

    God works in mysterious ways.

    Al shook his head. Yeesh. Russell must be merging with his mind again. Because as much as he'd love to believe miracles really did exist, he had several worries pressing on his mind that made him doubt it. Firstly, there was himself. He didn't want to be morbid or anything, but he actually wasn't bothered by wearing that bloody shirt, and the fact he wasn't bothered, bothered him. He hated it because it was Sam's blood, but not because it was blood. In fact...he kind of liked it. And that was worrisome. But more worrisome than that was his second and most prominent concern, the fact that that blood and Sam didn't match anymore.

    He'd joked about it in the living room, but he knew why Rusty was put off. He'd sensed it too. Something was...different about Sam since his miraculous recovery. Al would never say it, but...he had a different _scent_. And he wasn't one to go sniffing around his best friend ordinarily, and he certainly didn't know or pay attention to what Sam smelled like most days. But this leap, he knew for some reason. And he knew that Sam had changed. 

    Then again, maybe he was magnafoozling with Russell more than he realized. After all, he'd fabricated some wackadoo nightmare in his mind where he'd turned into a werewolf, so who's to say he wasn't imagining this whole thing? He should be grateful Sam was alive and leave it at that. Besides...if he thought about it too much, he really _would_ go off the rails.

\-------

    Gosh, Sam was hungry. He couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten, but it felt like he hadn't had anything for a week. As Al was shaving in the bathroom, Sam's stomach complained loudly at him, and he grew impatient waiting. Russell must have _something_ around here to eat. Scouring the cabinets and fridge, the selection was made up of predictable staples: Cereal. Bread. Eggs. Milk. Bacon. All food which Sam loved and could make a decent meal out of even with his less-than-great cooking skills, but none of it seemed to appeal to him at the moment. In fact, it made him feel sick. Maybe he wasn't doing as well as he thought he was. 

    _Something_ smelled good though. Sam sniffed the air and took in the intoxicating scent. Mmm. What was that? 

    _Thud thud. Thud thud._  

    What was that noise? Sam followed the sound and the smell to the bathroom.

    _Thud thud. Thud thud!_

    Perplexed, Sam peered inside the open door. Al was swearing lightly under his breath, wiping off a fresh cut on his neck from an evidently too-close shave. 

    _THUD THUD! THUD THUD!_

    Sam licked his lips. As the ruby red droplets dripped from Al's neck, he felt himself...entranced by it. He could focus on nothing else. The fresh scent of blood permeated his senses, sharp and crisp, as if the room was filled with it, but too far away at the same time. The sound of Al's heart pumping echoed in full stereo, drowning out anything else. 

    **_THUD THUD! THUD THUD!_**

    Sam was _hungry_. He grasped Al by the shoulders and bit down into his neck. 


	5. Chapter 5

    "GEEZ LOUISE!"

    Al's scream was apparently enough to jolt Sam back to reality, and he immediately withdrew with a look of wild panic. "Gosh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Al!"

    "What the hell, Sam?!" Al shouted, his hand clamped over his neck.

    "I don't know what came over me!" squeaked Sam, "I-I-I just couldn't resist! I don't know why I did that!"

    Suddenly, Al turned white as a ghost. Spouting off panicked vowel sounds, he pointed a shaking finger his way. "Y-Y-Y-Your teeth!" he finally spluttered.

    "What about my tee--?" Sam froze as he ran his tongue over his teeth--and found a set of fangs there. He stuck his fingers in his mouth just to be sure. "Ow!" Pulling his finger back, he found he'd drawn blood. Instinctually, he sucked on his wound, but then he stopped in shock. "I have fangs. Al. Al, I have fangs." Behind Al, he saw something even more shocking...or rather, it was something he _didn't_ see. Russell's reflection was in the mirror where Al was, and Sam should have seen Danny behind him...but there was nothing. "Where's my reflection?! What the hell is going on here?!"

    Al frantically whirled around, saw Sam's lack of reflection, and whirled right back. "Y-Y-You're a v-vampire, that's what the hell is going on here!"

    "That's ridiculous, Al!"

    "Why is that ridiculous?!" Al shrieked loudly.

    "Because vampires don't exist!" Sam shrieked even louder. 

    "Nope!" Al yelled, swiping his hands across each other, "No thanks! I'm outta here!" In a flash, Al was skidding away, tearing into Russell's bedroom and slamming the door shut.

\-------

    "Al!" Sam shouted in irritation, pounding at the door. Al had barricaded himself inside at least an hour ago and he was getting real tired of this. "Al, would you at least talk to me?"

    "No, I will not!" came Al's muffled response.

    Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. This was so typical of him. "Look, I said I was sorry!"

    "Yeah, you might be sorry now, but wait until you're _overcome_ with _blood lust_ again! Next thing you know, I'll be dinner!"

    "Al, this is idiotic! I'm not a vampire!"

    "Yes you are! You're a _bloodsucker_! The _undead_! Count _Chocula_!"

    "Count--Al, would you just get out here?!"

    "Okay, riddle me this, Sam: If you're not a vampire, how do you explain the _fangs_? Or your _reflection_?"

    Sam sighed. "I don't know, but I'm sure there's a rational explanation!" Sure. He and Al were having some sort of shared psychosis. Or...he was still in the hospital, and on some really powerful drugs. That seemed plausible. Although, if the latter were true, he wasn't sure what difference it would make to argue with Al. 

    "Face it, pal: we thought you were dead because you _are_! You've become a Nosferatu! A hemoglobin-slurping creature of the night!"

    "It's daytime, now would you start acting like a grown man?"

    Hesitantly, the door creaked open, and Al peered at him suspiciously through the narrow slot. "You see this?" he asked, turning so he could see the two tiny puncture wounds in his neck, "This isn't a hickey, Sam! You tried to kill me!"

    "I wasn't trying to kill you," Sam insisted, "I was just..."

    "Just what, Sam?" Al pushed, narrowing one eye at him.

    Ashamed and unable to come up with an acceptable excuse, Sam went quiet. He was hungry, that's what had happened. He couldn't lie to himself about that. But to claim he was a vampire was...it just wasn't scientifically possible. Even if all of the evidence pointed toward it. "I don't know. Al--"

    As he reached to pull the door open wider, Al shoved an arm out with a large cross in hand. As soon as Sam saw it, he couldn't control himself. Filled with an insurmountable sense of panic and hatred, he hissed and drew back. His eyes went wide. No! It couldn't be! With a stunned gasp, he clasped his hands over his mouth. "Oh boy..." he whispered, "Al. I'm a vampire!" 

    "No shit, Sherlock!" Al exclaimed, and, out of nowhere, he suddenly seemed angry over something else. It made him bold enough to exit the room, although he kept the cross between them. "And that means you're a jerk!" 

    "I'm sorry for trying to eat you, okay?!"

    "No, not that! Although yes, trying to eat me does make you a jerk," Al conceded, then went on, "But you had me thinking I was off my rocker this whole leap! You had me convinced I was imagining it all, and now here you are with egg all over your face!" He leaned in and squinted one eye. "You're a real schmendrick, you know that?"

    "A _what_?" 

    "A schmendrick! Ruthie taught me that one. It means you're an idiot!" 

    "How was I supposed to know all of this was real?" Sam sighed in panicked exasperation, "Ghosts and vampires and werewolves don't exist in the real world!" 

    "Evidently, they do! And guess what? _We're_ it!" Al yelled, motioning between the two of them, "Sam, I don't wanna understate anything here, but I'm losing it right now!"

    "Al--" Sam took a step forward, but Al protectively raised the cross higher. "Al, come on, it's--it's still me." None of this was registering properly with him. It challenged everything he ever knew was true, and he was a man who had invented a time machine. This couldn't possibly be happening. 

    "You tried to turn me into a juice box back there!" 

    Feeling slightly defensive now, Sam was losing his already waning patience. "Fine, yeah. I was trying to...suck your blood," he admitted begrudgingly, to himself as well, then a blaming finger shot toward Al. "But you tried to kill me too!" 

    "What?" Al responded with disbelief, "When?"

    "At the church! If you really are a werewolf, then you tried to eat me there!" 

    "That's not playing fair, Sam! I wasn't in control of myself then!"

    "Well neither was I!" 

    Sam and Al said nothing, stuck in their defensive postures, and neither able to conjure up a suitable excuse to continue the argument. Inside their heads, however, a multitude of questions, fears, and confusions were warring with each other, impossibly loud to contrast the thick silence. 

    Al was the one to break the quiet first. "Alright...let's not fight anymore over who...uh, tried to snack on who here..."

    "Right," Sam said, nodding sensibly, "I think we can agree that we both acted inappropriately, so we should move on."

    "Move on, right."

    Silence again. Both men considered their options as to what to do next.

    "If I lower this cross, are you going to, uh...be okay?" Al asked cautiously.

    "I won't attack you," Sam replied earnestly, "I promise." Apparently convinced, Al slowly lowered the cross. Sam closed his eyes and his body relaxed a little, visibly relieved. "Besides...heh," he chuckled nervously and shrugged, "I don't think vampires usually eat werewolves. Don't take this the wrong way, Al, but you taste funny."

    "Yeah? Well you smell funny," Al shot back. Why he was offended that Sam didn't find him tasty was a mystery. Rubbing his neck brought a new worry. "Hey--I'm not gonna turn into...you know?" he asked with concern. 

    "I don't think so," Sam answered, furrowing his brows in thought, "If you were, you wouldn't have a reflection. I think maybe you have to...be killed..." As the larger implications of what this meant began to sink in, Sam drew his hand across his face and sank onto the couch. "Al...I'm really dead."

    "Well...not anymore, obviously," Al said in halfhearted optimism, screwing up his mouth, "I mean, you're here, aren't you? Look, let’s just complete this god forsaken leap, and we can leave all this werewolf and vampire stuff behind. Deal?"

    "That's just it, Al. What if I don't...leave this vampire stuff behind?" 

    "What're you talkin' about?"

    "Think about it, Al," Sam said, "Your werewolfism is a residual from Russell, but I was...I was actually turned into a vampire. Me, Sam Beckett. I don't know if that will go away when I leap, or if I even _can_ leap...or if I'll be a vampire forever." A darkness hung over Sam. He had actually died, and come back as something else, something...inhuman. It still didn't seem real, and yet the possibility of staying like this forever haunted him. He couldn't imagine having to live off of killing other people, he _couldn't_ , no matter how thirsty he was...He would sooner die. Again. And that horrified him too. 

    Stumped, Al rubbed his nose in thought. "Oh. Uhhh...that could be a problem." 

    _That_ was helpful. Sam shot him an irritated look as his stomach started growling again. "Al...I gotta get something to eat before I..." He didn't finish, instead giving Al a sheepish, lopsided grin. 

    "What're we supposed to do about that? It's not like you can go to the store and buy human blood," Al pointed out, looking slightly queasy. 

    "Well maybe it doesn't have to be human," Sam mused. He raised his hands after Al tensed up. "That's not what I meant!"

\-------

    For six years now, Sam had gotten used to looking in the mirror and seeing someone else's reflection. But for the life--er, _un_ life of him--he couldn't adjust to seeing nothing at all. Scrutinizing the mirror closely, he peered at the glass and tapped it with his fingers. It was bizarre. 

    An idea came to him. Smirking, he picked up the tube of toothpaste and held it up. Sure enough, it appeared to be floating along by itself, a phantom toothpaste. Giggling in childlike glee, Sam picked up other objects and began to make them dance in the air. This was actually kind of neat!

    "Dr. Beckett?"

    Dropping the toothpaste and a loofa in surprise, Sam turned to see Gooshie flickering nearby. The programmer seemed overwhelmed, speechless at the sight of him.

    "Gooshie! I was just, er--" Sam stopped when he noticed that Gooshie's eyes were red and puffy, obviously from having cried not too long ago. "Hey, are you okay?"

    "Hm? Oh, of course, Dr. Beckett!" Gooshie replied rapidly, "It's just...it's so good to see you!" He threw out his arms and made to hug him. Sam raised his arms apologetically and, realizing his mistake, Gooshie awkwardly backed away. 

    "Sorry," Sam apologized unnecessarily. 

    "We were all astounded when Ziggy said she'd reestablished a signal with you!" Gooshie exclaimed, and the handlink chirped, "You'll have to forgive me, Dr. Beckett, but...we thought you were dead!"

    "Yeah, about that..." Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "There's been...an unexpected turn of events. I'm not quite sure how to say this, heh..." Oh boy. Every time he thought he'd come across everything during the course of leaping, he was thrown into all new and confounding territory. Explaining to Gooshie that he'd become one of the undead made him feel both tense and extremely silly. Gooshie waited patiently for him finish. "Um, well, you see, I...When I, er..." Finally, he just blurted out, "Gooshie, I'm a vampire."

    It sounded just as insane saying it to Gooshie as it had inside his head, but, well, it was true, and honesty was the best policy. He wasn't sure how the rest of the Project would take it, or if they would decide leaping had finally scrambled his mind, but he was hoping his miraculous return from the dead would overshadow the vampire part. 

    Gooshie stayed frozen for a moment, then gave a single nod. Trying to mask his uncertainty, he politely said, "Oh...I see, Dr. Beckett."

\-------

    "Play it cool, Al, play it cool..." Al mumbled to himself as he walked down the street, "You're just a normal guy, doin' normal guy things. Buyin' pig's blood for your best friend. Sure, no big deal." Why couldn't Sam come with him again? Oh yeah, he was afraid he might do something rash and try to kill someone. That made Al feel a whole lot better about their living situation. At least he was doing better than he was previously; that was something. It was unnerving to think that after how many things he'd been confronted with this leap that petrified him, he'd simply built up a protective mental wall and made himself numb to it. He was sure there were some deep, irreversible psychological scars being built up and buried here, things that would give Dr. Beeks a field day. 

    As he entered the butcher shop, his nostrils were filled with the scent of delicious raw meat, and he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Yumola! 

    Yikes! He shook his head to try and clear it. This wasn't healthy, not in the least bit. He needed to get his stuff and get outta dodge post-haste. Now if he could just figure out how to ask the butcher for this wacko order without seeming like some sort of creep. 

    The butcher, a thin African American man, approached the counter from the back. He smiled when he saw him. "Hi there, Father Gray! You here for the usual?"

    Al smiled nervously. Of course Russell had a "usual" at a butcher shop.

\-------

    "Howsit goin'?"

    "NYAH!" Al nearly dropped his bag of macabre items when he heard Vanessa's shrill voice. "Would you stop doing that?" he panted as he caught his breath. 

    "Whoops, sorry," Vanessa said as she dug the toe of her heel into the sidewalk, "I just wanted to check in on you, after...well, like, you weren't in a very good space when I left you."

    "What? Oh yeah!" Al responded, suddenly remembering their last encounter. He grinned. "You really wanted to check in on me?"

    "Of course. You're my friend!" Vanessa smiled, absolutely genuine. 

    "Oh..." Al began, touched, as he shifted the bag in his hands, "I guess...I guess you're my friend too." 

    Vanessa's face lit up. "Ya really mean it?" 

    "I really do." 

    For a moment, the two stood in companionable silence. Al never thought in a million years he'd be friendly with a ghost, but...she was starting to get to him. The fact she was dead was more of an afterthought at this point. She spotted something across the street and her eyes went wide.

    "There he is!" she gasped, "There's my Paulie!" She giggled and jumped up excitedly. 

    Al turned around. A man with an angular face and an unfortunate 80s mullet was exiting a nearby record shop. "Who?"

    "Paulie!" Vanessa repeated happily, "My boyfriend! Oh, poor baby, he must be crying himself sick! I only died a couple weeks ago, y'know, he hasn't had time to get over me yet."

    "Oh, uh..." Al craned his neck uncertainly, "You want me to, uh...talk to him for you?" He had promised he'd help her with this unfinished business, after all. 

    "Would ya? Oh, that would just be _bitchin_ '!" Vanessa's smile widened. 

    As Al started to cross the street, a modelesque blonde followed behind Paulie. The man waggled his eyebrows and smacked her square on the tush, pulling her in for a huge, open-mouthed kiss. 

    Vanessa gasped in shock. "Is that--Lillian?! My best friend?!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I can't...I can't believe that they would..." Paulie and Lillian fell backwards onto the car, never even taking the time to come up for air. Vanessa's lip trembled. "I thought that maybe they were...but then I thought Paulie would never do that to me, and..." Her face fell and she began to sniffle. "I...I guess I didn't mean that much to him after all..."

    This absolutely infuriated Al. He narrowed his eyes at the couple across the street and ground his teeth. These punks needed to be taught a lesson! Without another word, he set down his bag and marched across the road, unheeding of traffic. He was too angry to pay attention. 

    He tapped Paulie on the shoulder, and the couple parted in confusion. "Can I help you?" Paulie questioned. 

    "Yeah, you can help me," Al said, steaming, "You can explain to me why Vanessa's barely even cold yet before you're out here macking on her best friend!"

    "Vanessa? H-How do you know about--?"

    "Listen here, you lowlife," Al hissed, poking him in the chest, "You wouldn't know a good thing if it hit you square in your ugly mug! Vanessa was a kind, sweet, and classy dame, and you were too much of a nozzle to realize what you had! And as for you," he said, turning to Lillian, "I'd say you could do a whole lot better than this slimeball, but you're _Queen_ of the Slime! You two deserve each other!" With a few more Italian expletives and rude hand gestures, he huffed, turned around, and crossed the street again. The couple remained still, just as confused as ever. 

    Still seething with anger but feeling slightly better, Al picked up his bag. Vanessa was dumbstruck.

    "No one...no one ever did anything like that for me," she said, giving him a small smile, "Thank you."

    "Yeah, well, they deserved it," Al said, heading back toward the butcher shop.

    "Where ya goin'? Didn't you just come outta there?"

    "Yeah, but...I suddenly have the feeling Paulie's car would smell a whole lot better doused in _pickled pig's feet juice_ ," Al mused with an evil glint in his eye. Vanessa giggled.

    "I think so too!"

\-------

    Sam inspected his hand with fascination. There was no evidence that he'd ever cut himself at all, and after removing the bandage from his neck and going by feel, he could tell that his mortal injury was exactly the same. So he deduced that, as a vampire, he had an extremely rapid healing process. Mentally, he found himself struggling to accept the changes in him. Scientifically, however, he found everything surrounding his new biology intriguing. 

    He could walk around during the day, he knew that much. Although he did notice that his eyes were particularly sensitive to sunlight, perhaps due to his now nocturnal nature. In fact, he was feeling pretty wiped from being up all day, but he was too wired from all the excitement to get any rest. He hoped that he didn't have to sleep in a coffin. It wasn't just the morbidity that turned him off, but rather the combination of embarrassment and inconvenience.  

    Technically, he wasn't dead. Once he'd woken up in the morgue, the hospital had checked all of his vitals and found nothing out of the ordinary. He had a pulse, he still breathed, and his body temperature, while cool, was still relatively normal. That must be part of why vampires blended in so well--ostensibly, they functioned much like humans do. But, they weren't.

    _He_ wasn't, and that was something he still had trouble wrapping his mind around. His fascination couldn't overcome his fear, but both were overcome by the hunger gnawing at his stomach.

    The temptation to leave was growing stronger by the minute. To sneak out and find someone, sink his teeth into their neck, taste the sweet substance flowing through their veins...He licked his lips at the thought, then chastised himself for ever thinking it. He was stronger than this, damn it. He was still Sam Beckett! Wasn't he?

    He could smell something just outside the door. Blood. His pupils slit as he waited impatiently for Al to come in. 

    "Okay, kiddo, we've got--" Before Al had even crossed the threshold, Sam was snatching the bag from his hands and digging through the contents. "Why don't you help yourself?" 

    Sam found the pig's blood and dropped the bag unceremoniously to the ground, tearing the lid off of the container and gulping it down greedily. As soon as he'd taken his first swallow, he gagged and looked at Al with distaste. "Ugh! Al, it's disgusting!"

    Al was finding it hard not to feel nauseous himself. Queasy now, he turned away to shut the door. "Yeah, well, it's the best we've got."

    "I'll take it," Sam conceded with a sigh, bracing himself for more of the vile liquid, "I'm starving!" He started to take more big swallows, quickly downing the first container and reaching for the next. 

    Al watched this gluttonous display with a single eyebrow raised, his mouth slanted, temporarily speechless. Finally, he declared, "This leap is weird, Sam." 

    Glancing up and wiping away blood from his mouth, Sam innocently asked, "What do you mean?" Al's lips tightened and he gave Sam a pointed look, not dignifying that with an answer. Sam got the picture. "Oh, you mean this..." He swallowed again and looked pensive. "You know, Al, I've been thinking about that...Don't you think it's a strange coincidence how much we've encountered on this single leap that's out of the ordinary?"

    "You mean like creepy crawlies?" Al asked, wiggling his fingers. 

    "Yeah. I mean, what are the chances that you would leap into a werewolf, I'd get turned into a vampire, and you'd meet a ghost?" 

    "It does seem pretty unlikely..."

    "It's astronomical," Sam said, pacing contemplatively, "Which means, there has to be a reason for it."

    "Alright, uh..." Al rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, well, the murders were caused by a vampire, so that part makes sense. Sorta."

    "But where do you and the ghost fit in?"

    "Beats the hell outta me."

    "Unless..." A small grin started to slide onto Sam's face.

    "Unless what?" Al asked, his eyes narrowed. It was unnerving whenever Sam got that look.

    "I don't know about the ghost, but..." Sam bit his lip and considered his next statement carefully. "Well, you and I have....certain abilities now that we didn't have before."

    "Yeah, I suppose..." Al agreed cautiously.

    "So the way I see it," Sam reasoned, his grin growing wider, "that makes us...kind of like superheroes."

    "What?" Al couldn't hide the cynicism from his voice, his eyes rolling skyward, " _Sam_..."

    "I mean it, Al!" Sam insisted, his excitement growing, "What if we were leaped into Danny and Russell so we could...fight evil?"

    "You need to get real, Sam!" Al said as he leaned in. He gave him an annoyed look, picked up the bag from the floor, and headed for the kitchen. "We're not some caped crusaders; we're a couple of freaks!"

    "I don't know, I think I'm onto something," Sam said with conviction, following him into the kitchen. 

    Al turned around and grinned sarcastically. "What am I gonna do, Sam, _sniff_ at evil? Unless it's a full moon, I'm pretty much useless." He snapped his fingers. "Ooh! Maybe you can turn into a bat!" Then his brows closed together and he squinted curiously at him. "You can't, can you?"

    "No, I--" Sam paused in second thought. "I don't think so. But listen, Al, if we stop the vampire...or vampires, then we stop the murders. We can at least agree on that part, right?"

    "Right."

    "Hiya!" 

    The two of them turned as Vanessa phased through the wall and into the kitchen, and Sam jumped with surprise. 

    "How did--? Who--?"

    "Hey, in-he supposed to be dead?" a perplexed Vanessa questioned with a pointed finger.

    "Al, I can see her!" Sam gasped. 

    Al did a double take. "You can?" he and Vanessa asked simultaneously. 

    "You're a--I mean, she's a--She's really a--"

    "Ghost, duh!" Vanessa finished for him, rolling her eyes. She turned to Al. "Am I missing something here?"

    "Sam's a vampire," Al answered bluntly.

    "Oooh," Vanessa uttered, nodding in understanding, "Okay!" She shrugged and didn't ask anything further, opting instead to explore the kitchen. "Got anything here to eat?" She paused, remembered she didn't eat anymore, and then giggled. "Oh, whoops!"

    "Al, how can I see her?" Sam asked, finally breaking out of his stupor. 

    "How should I know?" Al answered, scratching his chin, "Wait! Maybe, uh...maybe it's because you're a Dracula now!" Sam pursed his lips at the nickname. Al put a hand on his hip as he thought. "Maybe you gotta be a little...less than human to see ghosts or somethin'." He wobbled his hand and shrugged a single shoulder. "That explains why I can see her," he concluded, then he screwed up his mouth. He didn't like the idea of being "less than human" any more than Sam did. 

    "Actually, that makes sense..." Sam trailed off in thought. Guiltily, he regretted giving Al such a hard time this entire leap. 

    Jerking a thumb behind him toward Sam, Al looked at Vanessa with a tight smile. "Can you believe he thought I was making this all up?"

    "What a nozzle!" Vanessa replied, leaning in with her hands on her knees. She and Al burst into chummy laughter. It wasn't what Sam was expecting. 

    "Why are you two getting along all of a sudden?" he asked, quickly lost, "I thought you were afraid of her!"

    "A guy can change his mind, can't he?" Al answered with a question, leaning against the counter and slapping his stomach, "As it turns out, I might have jumped to some, uh....hasty conclusions. Turns out Vanessa here is alright...for a ghost."

    "And you're alright for a priest," Vanessa shot back playfully.

    Sam furrowed his brows. "Uh, Al? Does she know that...?"

    "Never mind, Sam," Al cut him off, shaking his head, "It just overcomplicates things." 

    If Vanessa picked up on what Sam was trying to say, she didn't let on. Sam didn't doubt that the whole thing went over her head, taking into account her spaciness. Briefly, he wondered what she would think if they told her they were time travelers in the guise of other people. Did she see them as them, or as Danny and Russell? He'd never given any thought as to how they would be perceived by the recently deceased. 

    "Well, it's...nice to meet you," Sam said at last, lamely polite. 

    Vanessa smiled. "Same to you! Now I have _two_ people to help me!" 

    Sam wasn't sure on what she meant. He turned to Al to fill in the blanks. "Her unfinished business, Sam."

    "Oh!" he gasped, remembering Al's rambling from earlier in the leap, "Well, um, we can certainly try." And he meant it. Al thought Sam's want to help everyone and everything was disgustingly noble. Even if he wanted to help her too. 

    A thought occurred to him that might help them out on this leap. "Hey Vanessa, can I ask you a favor?"

    "Yeah?"

    "You still got access to the Ghost Hotline?"

\-------

    "Okay, turn the page. No, turn it. No. Next. Hold it!" Al attempted to point at a page in the hefty book before him, but his finger simply moved through it. He still wasn't used to being on the non-holographic side of a leap. 

    "Al, this is silly."

    Al waved dismissively at Sam and began to read the page. "No, this is good stuff, Sam. Stop being a Negative Nancy."

    "I'm not being a...negative anything," Sam argued, folding his arms, "I just don't think Dr. Lazlo Fang is the most reliable source of information."

    "Excuse me? Dr. Lazlo Fang happens to be the foremost expert on vampires!"

    "Really?" Sam laughed, "According to who?"

    "It says so on his website! There's a big banner on top!"

    "Ohhh, his _website_ , then it _must_ be true," Sam agreed patronizingly, nodding, "Nothing's ever wrong on the internet." This earned him a scowl. 

    "I have to say I agree with Dr. Beckett, Admiral," chimed in Gooshie, who had unfortunately been roped into holding the book and turning the pages for Al.

    "Nobody asked you, Gooshie," Al said in irritation, shifting his weight to his other foot and craning his neck at the page, "Now hold the book still so I can read."

    Choosing to remain silent, Gooshie simply sighed.

    As soon as Ziggy heard Sam had claimed to be a vampire, she'd decided to have a fit of her own, evidently convinced she was being put on. Vampires were fictional, and therefore she predicted with 87% certainty that they were "pulling her leg." Many on the staff had tried to explain to her that pranking a computer was a useless exercise, but that only seemed to damage her ego even more. She wasn't that gullible!

    "If you aren't going to take this seriously," she sniffed, "Then neither will I!" 

    Since then, she'd sent most of her responses in the form of limericks, or quoting the occasional spam e-mail. When Gooshie had first attempted to lock onto Sam and Al with Al's requested reading material, he'd been mortified by Ziggy's initial offer to help him change the size of his...well, more private areas. 

    Not that he was in any hurry to bring the book to 1988. He and the rest of the staff were convinced Sam and Al had suffered some sort of shared psychosis. Verbena had a few theories of her own, opting to interview Danny and Russell in the Waiting Room to try and determine the origin of these strange delusions. In the meantime, they'd just have to keep an eye on their Project Directors and make sure they didn't end up hurting themselves or failing the leap. Somehow, the end result was that billions of dollars were being spent sending Gooshie's holographic image through time so he could turn pages. 

    "Aha!" Al shouted triumphantly, "Hoho, Sam, I've got the solution to our problems! Listen to this." He glanced up from the book to make sure Sam was paying attention. Sam was leaning on his hand, his amused smirk still in place, waiting for Al to continue. "According to this chapter, a vampire can be cured if they stake the vampire who turned them before they take a human life." 

    Although not entirely sold on the source material, Sam did perk up at the mention of a cure. "You mean, if I kill whoever attacked me?"

    "Exactamundo!" Al exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "That stops the murders, and ka-za-ZOOM!" His hand shot through the air. "We're outta here!" 

    Sam nodded as he considered the information. "What if there's more than one vampire involved?"

    "Then we drive a stake through every one of 'em!"

    "I dunno, Al," Sam said hesitantly, "I don't really like the idea of...impaling anyone."

    Al's eyes hooded over. "What did you think was gonna happen, we'd have a nice chat with the vampire and ask them to please stop drinking people's blood? They killed you, Sam!"

    "Admiral, I really must protest--"

    "Can it, Gooshie."

    "Okay, okay," Sam acquiesced, "Let's say we did...put a stake through them. We have to find them first."

    "Yep, which is why I sent Vanessa out on reconnaissance," Al explained proudly, "She talks to her dead friends, finds out what they've heard about vampires, and hopefully that gives us a clue. And I'm willing to bet dead people stay in the same circles." 

    "Who's Vanessa?"

    "Never mind, Gooshie."

    "Admiral! Dr. Beckett!" Gooshie shouted. That got Sam and Al's attention. Gooshie rarely raised his voice, mostly because he was afraid of Al, which meant something really needed to be said. "Perhaps we should...stop and consider the consequences of...putting a stake in some poor person's heart. At least, until we're absolutely sure that Dr. Beckett is a, er...you know."

    "He doesn't believe you?" Al asked Sam, as if they'd had a minor disagreement over what to watch on television. 

    "He doesn't believe me."

    "Do the fang thing."

    "What?"

    "Show 'em your fangs! Like this!" Al demonstrated with an exaggerated hiss. 

    "I can't just do it whenever I want to, Al!" Sam protested, feeling uncomfortably on the spot, "I mean, I...I don't know how it works." 

    "I hate to press the urgency of the situation," Gooshie cut in, his image flickering, "But I should remind you that it takes an immense amount of power to transmit a signal to both of you. S-So, if you would just agree not to--"

    "Hang on, lemme get a cross..." Al offered, crossing the room. 

    "Al!"

    "Admiral Calavicci!"

    "Sa-am!"

    "Dr. Beckett!"

    "Sammy! Allie Baby!" Vanessa faded in just as Gooshie crackled out of sight, posing with a hand on one hip. "Who's got the latest gab on vamp central? This chick!" She jabbed her thumbs at her ample chest. Al appreciated the focus. 

    "You know where the vampire that bit me is?" Sam asked, hopeful.

    "Nah," Vanessa answered, and Sam's shoulders sagged, "But! I talked to Georgia, who talked to Chrissy, who said she heard from Crystal about some girl who knows a vampire. Said she was some sort of...servant or something?"

    "Like Renfield!" Al deduced with wide eyes.

    "Who?" questioned Sam.

    "Renfield!" Al repeated. Sam was drawing a blank. "Didn't you see Dracula? Jeez, Sam, don't you know anything about vampires?"

    Sam folded his arms again. "I don't remember that movie, Al, but I'm certain it has nothing to do with reality."

    "Says the guy with an all liquid diet," Al mumbled as he rolled his eyes, "Whatever. Renfield was under Dracula's spell. He did favors for him with the promise that he'd be turned into a vampire--Oh, Sam, he ate _bugs_ and stuff! It was _yucky_!" 

    Sam was stunned silent. This, he decided, was all sounding rather farfetched. 

    "Right, this chick would do _anything_ to become a vampire," Vanessa said, "And you're, like, one of them now, right? So...you talk to her, and she can help you find your vamp." 

    "See, Sam?" smirked Al, "I told ya Vanessa would come through!" 

    Sam was a little less than enthused with the foggy information. But, he had to try something. He didn't like the idea of staying a vampire. He cleared his throat. "Did this girl have a name?"

    "Well duh!" Vanessa said, giggling. Sam waited impatiently. "Oh, you mean what is it?" His lips thinning, Sam nodded affirmatively. Vanessa twirled her hair. "Lessee, it was, uh...Oh yeah! It was Sally."

    "Sally...?"

    "Just Sally. Oh! But she goes to this club called The Craze every night. That's where you can find her." Vanessa nodded happily. 

    Sam sighed and closed his eyes, "Well...it's a start."

    Al nodded in agreement, then waved toward him. "Sam...we're gonna have to teach you how to be a vampire."

    "Teach me?" Sam repeated, dubious. Was he doing this wrong somehow?

    "Sure. You put the whammy on this Sally broad, and we've got our man!"

    "The whammy?" Sam echoed, exasperated. 

    "You hypnotize her!" Al clarified, as if that clarified anything. Sam raised his eyebrows and he sighed. "According to Dr. Lazlo Fang, a vampire can hypnotize anyone who's highly susceptible to suggestion. Here, try it out on Vanessa."

    "Hey!" Vanessa shouted indignantly. 

    "How--How am I supposed to do that?" Sam asked uncertainly. He wasn't sure about Al's credentials in terms of supernatural folklore, taking into account Dr. Lazlo Fang, but he was more knowledgeable than Sam was at the very least. For once, Sam was glad for Al's superstitious paranoia concerning anything otherworldly.  

    "Okay, Sam, follow my lead," Al instructed as he stood beside Vanessa to direct him. Vanessa folded her arms in annoyance, but decided to play along. He lifted his hands to get Sam's attention. "Now, you look her straight in the eye." Sam focused his gaze on Vanessa. Al waved his hands dramatically. "Concentrate on what you want, and tell her in a deep voice...'IIIII am your maaaaaster...'"

    This had to be one of the dumbest things Sam had ever done. Swallowing his pride, he ordered, with a slight Transylvanian accent, "Vanessa, IIII, am your MAST--"

    "Saaam! Take this seriously!"

    "I am taking it seriously!"

    "Then what is that? The Sesame Street voice?"

    Sam's lips tightened in frustration. "It's not--"

    "Try harder, Sam. Now go!"

    Sam threw his head back, took a deep breath, and put his attention back on Vanessa. "Okay, Al. But I'm doing this my way." Lowering his chin, he centered his eyes on Vanessa's and concentrated. Then...something clicked. He knew exactly what to do. It was as if an energy was radiating from him, commanding his will to be heard. "Listen to me. I am your master. You will do my bidding." A pause, then questioningly. "Okay?"

    "You are my master," repeated Al unexpectedly, his eyes glazed over, "I will do your bidding." Vanessa remained unaffected, shrugging.

    Grinning in bemusement, Sam leaned in toward Al. "Al?"

    "Yes, master...?" Al asked, his voice far away.

    Sam bit his lip. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. Stroking his chin, he decided to test the waters with something small. "Do some jumping jacks." Obediently, Al started doing jumping jacks. Vanessa giggled, and Sam's mouth hung open in glee. He plastered on a more serious face and barked, "That's enough!" Al jolted to a stop. "Now..." Sam started, thinking, "Repeat after me: I love Ziggy."

    "I love Ziggy..."

    "Ziggy is the best computer ever made."

    "Ziggy is the best computer ever made..."

    "Sam Beckett is smarter than me."

    "Sam Beckett is smarter than me..."

    "And I dress like a clown!"

    "And I dress like a clown..."

    Sam and Vanessa burst into laughter. "Oh, this is wild!" Vanessa shrieked. 

    Once the laughter died down, Sam supposed he should have some mercy on his friend. He cleared his throat. "Okay, Al," he said commandingly, "I set you free!" He clapped his hands, and Al blinked. 

    Al took one look at Sam's smile and rolled his eyes. "You're still not taking this seriously, Sam! I mean it this time; concentrate!" 

    "You know what? I think I got it, Al." Sam winked, patted him on the back, and walked away. 

    "Huh?" a confused Al looked to Vanessa, who simply giggled and followed Sam. He flapped his arms for attention. "What? What are you laughing about?"


	6. Chapter 6

    "Al, I really don't feel right about wearing this here." Sam tugged uncomfortably at Russell's clerical suit as he and Al sat at the bar at The Craze, a rather sad club considering the town's population, but busy enough for them to blend in. If Sam didn't feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb, that is. Why he'd let Al talk him into wearing this, he didn't know. He thought _he_ was supposed to be the one with the power of suggestion.

    "Relax, pal," Al said, bobbing his head to the music and drumming on the bar, "Without the collar, no one's gonna know it's a monkey church suit."

    " _I'll_ know," Sam hissed through his teeth, "And why do I have to wear it?"

    "It was the only black thing Russell owned. Vampires are supposed to wear black, right? So?" As if that answered anything, Al nodded decisively and took a sip of his virgin drink. Sam simply sat there in tense irritation. "You've gotta play the part, Sam." His sentence was barely finished when an attractive brunette brushed lightly past him, eyeing him flirtatiously. His eyes trailed the length of her in appreciation. Leaning in toward Sam, he said conspiratorially, "Hey, you know that _sexual lust_ vampires seem to exude? Well I think werewolves have some of that mojo too. I've been gettin' looks from honeys all night...Not that Al Calavicci ever had a problem in that department." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

    "Al!" Sam whispered scoldingly, "You're a priest!"

    "No, _Russell_ is a priest," Al corrected him, "And I see nothing wrong with a little...animal attraction..." He flashed a charming smile at another woman who was eyeing him across the bar. 

    "Al!"

    Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the woman, Al rolled his eyes. "Whoever heard of a Boy Scout vampire? Don't make this weird, Sam."

    "Yeah, Sammy," chimed in Vanessa from her seat next to them. Perfect. Just what Sam needed: someone to encourage Al's bad habits. She jiggled her crossed leg and wiggled her toes. As they sat there, werewolf, vampire, and ghost, Thriller began to blare from the speakers. Sam remained stoic. It was almost like the beginning of a bad joke. "Ooh, there she is!" Vanessa wagged her finger at a dowdy girl in a thick sweater, who took a seat at the far end of the bar. 

    "You sure?" Sam asked as he appraised the young woman. 

    "Yeppers," Vanessa confirmed in a serious, detective-like tone, "she matches the description."

    "Go get her, killer," Al encouraged, patting Sam on the back. He winced. "Er--forget that last part."

    "Thanks, Al," Sam replied wryly, sliding from the barstool and making his way toward his target. 

    Sally stirred her drink absentmindedly, unaware of Sam's approach. Making his best attempt to look suave, he ended up tripping over his own feet on the way. Luckily for him, Sally was distracted by a bug on the counter. With a quick snatching motion, she had the bug in her hand and popped it into her mouth. Sam had to take a second to wipe the grimace off of his face before he approached. 

    He cleared his throat. "This seat taken?"

    "Huh?" Sally uttered in surprise, looking behind her, "You talking to me?" 

    "Yeah, um..." Sam forced a grin, "Beautiful." It was lame, and he knew it. He was not usually the type to go out picking up women, and certainly not one to try and manipulate one for information. He felt wrong doing it. Hypnotism or no, he didn't want to toy with someone's emotions. But...lives were on the line, and not just his. He glanced over at Al and Vanessa, who both gave him thumbs up of encouragement. 

    Sally blushed deep red. "Oh, I...I've never been called that before."

    Suddenly, Sam found himself feeling sorry for her. Genuinely, he asked, "Really?" She shook her head. "It's true. You are beautiful," he said in earnest. He really meant it. If she took care of herself, combed her hair, and maybe dressed in something that fit properly, she would clean up well. It occurred to him that someone who clung to the fruitless hope of becoming a vampire for so long, following someone who certainly didn't care about her wellbeing, was probably a very lonely individual. He felt like giving her a hug. 

    Behind him, Al was gesturing to get a move on, but Sam didn't feel like hypnotizing her now. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And so, he sat on the stool next to her and grinned. "The name's Danny." He extended his hand, and she shook it shyly. 

    "Sally."

\-------

    "What in the world is he doin' over there?" Al asked aloud, narrowing his eyes at Sam as he chatted politely with Sally. He thought he could almost hear what they were saying, but the sound of the club's music drowned them out. Sighing, he downed the last of his virgin daiquiri. Much as he appreciated the extra female attention he was getting, bars were infinitely less fun to hang at when you couldn't drink, and he felt like a tool ordering virgins. He'd much rather slip into bed with one. Deciding he should push things along, he clanked his glass onto the counter and muttered to himself, "What would the Prudent Prince do without me?"

    As he approached Sam and Sally, Sally was just getting ready to leave. She smiled thankfully and took Sam's hand in both of hers. "Thank you so much, for everything."

    "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," Sam said, grinning, "Remember, Sally: you don't need immortality to be special. You're a wonderful person, and you're going to find someone who makes you feel as important as you are." 

    "Thank you! Thank you!" Sally blushed, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and left. 

    Al's mouth hung open. "The hell was that, Sam?"

    "Sally and I were, um..." Sam scratched at his ear, "having a little talk. She was feeling lonely, and I convinced her that following a vampire wasn't a great lifestyle choice." His face split into a grin. "Al, she's really neat. She has this knitting class she--"

    "Saaam!" Al cut in sternly, "You didn't hypnotize her? You just booked us a one way ticket to Nowheresville!" 

    "I didn't _need_ to hypnotize her," Sam beamed, leaning against the counter, "Not everyone has to be manipulative to get what they want." Admittedly, he was rather proud of himself. Not only did it feel more honest, but it also felt like he was holding onto what made him Sam. And that was immensely important. 

    "You found out where our vampire is?" Al questioned in surprise.

    "Well, she didn't know," Sam admitted, and Al's eyes went skyward, "but I did find out who it was! And that there's only one vampire at work here, which narrows things down. That means her master has to be the one who bit me."

    Hand on his hip, Al appeared to reluctantly give him credit for his findings. "Great. Who's the guy?"

    "Well, _she's_...named Daisy." Sam quickly retreated into his glass of water. 

    Al's annoyance disappeared with a guffaw. "Oh, a _lady_ , is it? A lady named _Daisy_?"

    "Al..."

    "You sure know how to pick 'em, huh?" Al chuckled, "Hoo boy, whoever heard of a vampire named _Daisy_?"

    "Whoever heard of a werewolf named Al?" Sam retorted, but Al continued to laugh, long and ceaselessly. Sam decided to be more professional and get back to business. "Let's review. We know... _Daisy_ , has attacked mostly homeless people, probably to raise less attention. So, until the Project can contact us again, we should try and stick to places homeless people frequent."

    "That sounds like a safe bet," Al agreed, the last of his chuckles dying down, "But where do, uh, where do we start?"

    "I heard about something at the soup kitchen..." Sam hinted with a smirk. 

    Nearby, unknown to them, a very unhappy vampire watched from the shadows. She was losing her new recruit in some sort of "heroic" crusade. With a quick push in the right direction, however, she knew he'd be changing his tune. First, she had to get rid of his co-conspirator. A quick sniff determined that he was a werewolf, which meant his blood was too vile to drink. But, as she'd found out during her time as vampire, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Or a dog.

\-------

    As it turns out, Sam had recalled seeing a flyer in the soup kitchen about a church picnic, which meant free food, and that meant homeless people. That also meant, unfortunately, that Al would be back in his clerical suit. He felt like an impostor. And, he supposed he was. Growing up Catholic, he'd found one thing they loved was heaping on guilt, and that didn't bode well for someone who was guilty of something 95% of the time. But now, he was the one meant to be judging others, preaching of hellfire and brimstone, and all of the things that had frightened him so much as a child. Nowadays, he was still afraid of the devil, but he didn't need no priest to tell him that. Presently, though, his thoughts were on why on earth they were having a picnic in the fall.

    Oh yeah. He'd made a mess of the church when he'd turned into the Dog-faced Boy. This was their way of lifting everyone's spirits, not to mention collecting donations to repair the damage. Guiltily, Al placed some of Russell's money in the collection jar. He figured Russell would probably do the same if it had been him. Yeesh, it had been decades since Al had been a practicing Catholic, and that guilt still worked on him. 

    As for that lift of spirits everyone was looking for, most people just seemed to be trying to keep warm. All except for Sam, who didn't seem affected by the cold if he felt it. He sure looked goofy though. With his collar flipped up and wearing a pair of Russell's sunglasses, his skin pale in the sunlight, he stuck out like an eerie, putrefied thumb. Occasionally, one of Danny's friends would come by and congratulate him on his quick recovery. Apparently news of his attack traveled fast. 

    A small voice piped up from behind Al. "U-Um...Father Gray?"

    It took Al a moment to remember that was him, and he turned around to find an 11-year-old boy standing there, biting his lip nervously. The kid distractedly wiped his nose on his shirt. "Uh, yeah?"

    "Could I talk to you about something bad? I dunno who else to go to."

    Briefly, a wince flickered across Al's face. Oh, hell. More advice from Father Calavicci. It was one thing to try and fake it in that booth, but here this kid was, staring him in the face, coming to him with his problems. Al considered himself something of a bullshit artist, but it didn't sit well with him to be deceitful while in the guise of a priest, especially to a little kid. He could almost feel hellfire licking at his heels. "Uhhh..." His head fell in his hand as he considered making an excuse to leave. But the kid really did look like he needed some guidance. Al blew out a breath. "Sure, kid. Let's head over there." He jerked his head toward a bench a short distance from the crowd. The kid nodded, and they made their way there. "So what seems to be the problem?" asked Al as he took a seat next to him.

    The little boy twisted his fingers together. "I...I wanted forgiveness."

    "What'd you do?" Al questioned warily. 

    "I..." The boy thought for a moment, closing his brows together. "These boys at school, they make fun of me. They make fun of me because I don't have a mom. And...and I hate them. I hate them, Father!" His tiny fists were balled up in anger, which quickly gave way to shame. "And I...I know I shouldn't think the things I'm thinking. It's wrong. And--And I just want forgiveness. Can I have that? If I'm really sorry?"

    Now the kid was breaking his heart, and Al couldn't help but feel a bit of anger on the boy's behalf. A kid his age shouldn't be worried about forgiveness or penance, especially when he was the one being wronged. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Kid...there's nothin' to be sorry for."

    The boy looked up in surprise. "There isn't?"

    Al shook his head. "No. There's nothing wrong with feeling angry if someone hurts you. It's, uh...well, it's how you act on it that counts. And I'd say you did a da--" He barely remembered to censor himself. "A _darn_ good job at keeping your cool. You should be proud of yourself."

    "You...you think so?"

    "I know so. Look, you don't owe those boys anything, and certainly not your guilt."

    The boy lowered his eyes. "But what if they keep making fun of me?"

    "Well, uh, you gotta try not to let it get to you. You've got nothin' to be ashamed of," Al assured him, "I grew up without a mom, and I turned out just fine. More or less."

    "You did?" the boy asked in wonder.

    "Sure did. And kids used to tease me about it, too, but you know what? Eventually you're gonna realize that they don't matter in the long run. You gotta have faith in yourself." The boy nodded, but Al felt the need to say something else. He squeezed his shoulder and leaned in. "But if it's more than words? And someone tries to hurt you? You pop 'em one."

    The boy's eyes widened. "Really?"

    "Sure. But," Al added, a finger raised warningly, "only if you need to. You understand?"

    The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes, Father." He thought for a moment. "Should I pray for them?"

    Al shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, if you want to."

    "Thanks, Father," the boy said happily, standing up, "I'll do what you told me." And he took off, leaving Al grinning to himself. The kid reminded him of him, back when he was in the orphanage. If he'd gotten that same advice when he was younger, maybe he wouldn't have ended up in the hot seat with so many nuns. Maybe this priest gig wasn't so bad after all.

    Yeah, and maybe he was the Queen of England. 

    His stomach growled at him. Time to take advantage of that free lunch.

\-------

    "Oh my god, Sam, did you try this?" Al inquired, his mouth full of food, "I dunno what they put in these muffins, but they're yumola!" 

    He gestured at Sam with his muffin, and Sam's reaction was instant. He crinkled his nose in disgust, shoved his hand away, and angrily ordered, "Eck! Al, don't do that!"

    "Jeez, Sam, what's got your cape in a twist?"

    Ignoring Al's jab about the cape, Sam sighed and calmed down a little. "I'm sorry, I...I'm just a little on edge, that's all."

    "Yeah, a vampire around church folk, I'd be edgy too," Al said, finishing the last of his muffin. 

    "No, I mean...being around people." Sam looked down shamefully. "That pig's blood isn't really doing it for me. And..." Deciding against continuing, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. 

    Now Al understood. He nodded. "Don't worry, buddy. We'll figure this out." He cleared his throat and loosened his collar a bit. The weather was getting warmer. 

    "I don't think she's going show up, Al," said Sam, eyeing the crowd, "We might be wasting our time."

    "Uh...hopefully...hopefully not..."

    Distracted by Al's tone of voice, Sam turned to look at him again. Al was holding his stomach and looking concerned. "Al? What's wrong?"

    "I dunno..."

    "You look sick."

    And then there was that horrible feeling again, what Al had felt in the confessional at the church. That hot, crawl-under-his skin, sick to his stomach feeling he got before...

_Snap!_

    Al yelled and folded in on himself. With alarm, Sam ran to his side. "Al!"

    "Sam, it's--It's happening aga--AH!" He screamed again as once more, his bones began to break and shift. This couldn't be happening. He thought this only happened on a full moon! Yet he couldn't deny what he was seeing: fur beginning to creep up on his hands, claws shoving their way out from under bloody nails, the immense pain he felt as his body began to change form. Sam saw it too.

    "What? How?" 

    "Never mind how, Sam!" Al groaned as another wave of pain hit him. The crowd was beginning to stare. As Sam saw them, he began to realize the danger they were in. If Al transformed, a lot of people could get hurt or killed. They needed to act quickly.

    "We need to get you out of here," Sam stated obviously, grabbing him by the arms. Al's head shot up and stared at him with yellow eyes, pleading for help. Sam looked nervously at the crowd. "It's, uh...a bad flu." He knew it didn't make any sense, but it was better than nothing. 

    "Hurry, Sam!" Al growled, struggling to keep a hold on himself. The seams on his shoulders began to tear. 

    Sam didn't need to be told twice. But as he began to pull Al away, his friend began to fight with him and snarl. "Come on, Al! We need to get out of here before someone gets hurt!"

    Al was stronger than he looked, but then again, so was Sam now. Surprisingly, he was not as hard to hold onto as he had thought he would be. That didn't mean he could hold him forever, though, and they were running out of time. That's when Sam spotted, across the street, an open moving van. That would have to do. He dragged Al, who was screaming and pulling, over to the back and shoved him inside, quickly yanking down the door. Inside, he could hear Al begin to beat furiously at his prison, shoving his entire weight into it, his screams turning into animalistic sounds. Sam tensed up when door began to dent, but thankfully it held. At last, he heard a howl. 

    "Oh boy..."

\-------

    When Al was Al once again, he woke up to find a pair of fun bags staring him right in the face. All in all, considering he felt like death warmed over, it wasn't the worst thing he could've woken up to. He reached up, pulling the magazine away, and studied the picture more closely. Mmm. Miss July. He'd seen this one before, but damn was it a good vintage. Shame about the torn edges and missing pages, marring an otherwise perfect Playboy. 

    Where was he anyway? The only light he could see was streaming in through cracks on either side of the door, but it was enough to allow him to see around. Various boxes and broken pieces of furniture surrounded him, apparently having been destroyed while he was...otherwise indisposed. Which reminded him. It was awfully chilly in here. 

    The door slid open, and Al was temporarily blinded by the sunlight. Once his eyes had adjusted to the drastic change in lighting, Sam came into view. 

    "Al? You okay?"

    "Yeah, Sam, I--" Al quickly realized that, once again, he was stark naked in front of his best friend. Without the shock of his first transformation, he had the presence of mind to feel extremely embarrassed. He hid behind a large box and shot Sam a wildly offended look. "Do you mind?!"

    Sam craned his head, leaned forward, and handed him a set of clothes. "You're welcome."

    Al slanted his mouth with chagrin and rapidly snatched the clothes out of Sam's hand, opting not to say anything as he redressed himself. 

    "You okay now?" Sam asked in concern, "I mean...no..." He made his hands into claws and snarled. 

    "I'm alright. I think." As Al buttoned his pants, he looked up in alarm. "No one got hurt, did they? Or..." He trailed off.

    Sam shook his head, and Al leaned on top of some boxes in relief. "No, I got you out of there in time. We got lucky though. If I hadn't found this moving van, it might've been a different story."

    "God..." Al sighed and looked back up. "What the hell happened? I thought werewolves only transformed under the full moon!" 

    "They do," Sam confirmed, "Unless...something else triggers them."

    Al slanted his mouth again. "Like what?"

    "Like a spell, or, if they ingest wolfsbane," Sam explained. Al gave him a questioning look. "I've been doing some reading while you were...out."

    "Oh. Hang on!" Al's eyes lit up as he had an idea. "The muffin I was eating! I thought it tasted different! It must've been laced with that, uh, whatchamacallit, wolfsvane..."

    "Wolfsbane," Sam corrected him.

    "Wolfsbane, right. Yikes! What an unlucky coincidence! Who uses wolfsbane in their recipes anyway?" Al shook his head.

    "No one," Sam answered darkly, "Wolfsbane is poisonous to humans."

    "What? Then why didn't anyone else get sick?"

    "I think someone planted that one specifically for you."

    "Why would...?" Al gasped and pointed, rounding the boxes and closing in on Sam. "Your vampire chick! Yeah, Sam! There was a woman with sunglasses there; I thought I recognized her! She was at the soup kitchen! Cowboy girl!"

    "She must've found out we were onto her," Sam concluded with worry, "She must have figured if you turned into a werewolf in the crowd, you'd get caught or killed or something." Al furrowed his brows and leaned in on his hand pensively. Sam tried to be comforting. "Hey, I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

    "It's not me I'm worried about."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I mean, if she's tryin' to get me out of the way, that means she wants you for something. And what do you think that might be?" Al narrowed his eyes and Sam shrugged in puzzlement. Deadpan, Al said, "Sam, you dope. Why do you think she turned you into a vampire? She wants a boyfriend, cowboy!" 

    "You mean, she...she wants me to...date her?" 

    "Sure, if you can stay steady for eternity. Face it, Sam: You're one of Dracula's brides." Al stared worriedly at the wall. Sam could only glare. 

    The back of the van lit up dramatically as the door to the Imaging Chamber slid open, and out came a frantic Gooshie. "Oh good, the lock is holding! Thank goodness we were able to get through!"

    "Gooshie, what's the matter?" Sam asked with concern. 

    "We've got more information on who the next victim is," Gooshie rapidly divulged, "According to a police interview with _you_ , Admiral Calavicci, the next victim is Karen Davies."

    "Oh no!" Sam gasped.

    "Karen, isn't that Danny's friend?" questioned Al, "Hey, if the interview was with me...then that means we didn't get to her the first time!" 

    "Which is why you need to hurry! According to Ziggy's calculations," Gooshie said nervously, "there's a 98% chance she's going to be killed in the next 27 minutes!"

    "Where?" Sam and Al asked together.

    "St. Micah's Church."

    Sam and Al booked it out of the van immediately and headed straight for Russell's car. Overhead, the sky rumbled and darkened. 

    Just as Sam was starting the car and adjusting a mirror he couldn't see himself in, Vanessa appeared in the back seat. "Hiya!"

    They both jumped in surprise. "Jeez! You scared the crap outta us!" Al complained.

    "Sor- _ry_!" Vanessa moaned. "Hey, Al? You busy?"

    "Extremely."

    "It's just, ya know...about that unfinished business..."

    Al tightened his mouth, took a deep breath, and twisted himself around to face her. "Look, I hate to be rude, but there's more important stuff going on at the moment. I'll get to you when I get to you, okay?" He turned back around and folded his arms. As the car took off, Vanessa stayed where she was. 

    Sadly, she whispered, "Everything's more important than me."

\-------

    Karen Davies knew that when she was in trouble, she could always turn to the church. She might not be able to get there every Sunday, but she believed, in her heart of hearts, that Someone was watching out for her. And if she believed in God, she had to believe that that... _thing_ chasing her was of the Devil. In the back of her mind, she hoped it wouldn't be able to enter a house of God.

    As the raven-haired woman stepped easily past the destroyed threshold, Karen was horrified to realize she'd been mistaken. The monster grabbed her swiftly by the throat and leaned in for the kill. She was prepared for a painful death when a voice rang out.

    "Stop!"

    Karen and the monster looked toward the threshold. There stood Danny and Father Gray! Maybe Someone was looking out for her after all.

    Sam was tensely aware of the crosses around him, the feeling of dread the building filled him with. It was different than when he had first entered this church. He felt like he was invading it, an unwelcome trespasser. He felt like he was being judged. But he knew he had a life to save. 

    Then there was a vampire named Daisy. She flashed a toothy grin, the widest her face had cracked since the beginning of this leap. "Come to join me, cowboy?"

    "Let her go," Sam ordered, sounding more confident than he felt. 

    Instead of answering him, Daisy's eyes flickered to Al. "I see you made it."

    "You worried?" Al asked defiantly, his eyes slit. 

    "Not really. But it was fun to see you squirm."

    Sam could tell Al was steamed, but not enough to overcome his fear. Instead, he pursed his lips and squared his shoulders, but his fists were shaking at his side. It took all of his strength not to scream and run the other way. He'd been in a lot of fights in his lifetime, but going against a vampire was one he could do without.

    Sam took a step forward, attempting to fix his gaze on Daisy. Maybe he could use his hypnotism powers on her, convince her to set Karen free. It was worth a shot. He swallowed. "Let her go," he repeated.

    "Join me," Daisy ordered. Her intensity outshone his, and he found himself being lost in her eyes. He faltered. Daisy turned Karen's neck toward him, and he could hear her heart thumping. He licked his lips. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth, feel it sliding warmly down his throat...

    "Saaam!" Al warned in his ear, "Don't listen to her!"

    Sam tried again. "L-Let--"

    "Join me, lover."

    Against all his senses, Sam found himself overcome with desire. He needed to drink. He needed to kill. He took a step forward.

    "Saaam!" Al reached out and grabbed him, but Sam grabbed his hand and twisted it away. Blindsided by pain and surprised by the quick action, Al backed off and nursed his arm as Sam made his way over to Karen and Daisy. 

    "Drink her," Daisy urged softly, offering Karen to him. 

    Sam swallowed. She was so close, and she smelled so good. It would be so satisfying to sink his teeth into her, feel her life draining away, all of the power in his hands...He reached out, took her in his arms, and breathed in her scent.

    "Sam, what're ya doin'?" he could hear Al call from behind, "This isn't you!" 

    Sam didn't look back. Pulling a terrified Karen closer, he leaned in toward her neck. 

    "Aw, Sam! No!"

    "Run," Sam whispered. Karen nodded frantically. He let her go, and in an instant she was racing for the door. Daisy hissed and tried to follow, but Sam had grabbed her by the arm. 

    "Atta boy, Sam!" Al whooped, "I knew you wouldn't do it!"

    "You fool!" Daisy shrieked, smacking Sam across the face. Once more, he found himself crashing into a pew. "I'm older and stronger than you! I'll kill you for your insolence!" She began to close in to finish it when a cross was shoved in front of her.

    "Take _that_ , ya witch!" Al shouted. 

    Furious, she hissed and knocked the cross out of his hands, catching him by surprise. She shot out her arm and clamped down on his throat, lifting him off the ground. "Werewolves are so useless. I can't even drain you. But I can snap your neck in an instant." Al looked very much against that idea, but he couldn't speak to argue. Her fingers tightened, she grinned evilly, and suddenly she gasped.

    Behind her, Sam had a piece of a pew in hand, stuck straight through Daisy and into her heart. Dropping a coughing Al to the ground, she staggered to face her killer with a look of betrayal.

     "So long, cowboy..." She extended her hand, smiled sadly, and her features faded to dust. 

    Sam gasped as he felt new life within him, and the weight of the church being lifted off of his shoulders. He took in a deep breath. Grinning, he felt his teeth. No fangs. It had worked. It had actually worked! He laughed giddily. "Al! Al, I'm human again!"

    "I'm really happy for you," Al rasped, "but could you help me out here?"

    "Oh! Gosh, sorry!" Sam reached out and helped him to his feet. Al groaned and rubbed his back. "Are you okay?"

    "I could use a lozenge," Al joked, smirking, "but otherwise I'm okay. Jeez, what a mess..."

    They eyed the extra damage the church had taken on during the skirmish. It wasn't faring very well this leap. Sam raised his eyebrows guiltily. "Should we, er...should we clean up?"

    "Sure thing, Sam," said Al, clapping his shoulder tiredly, "Tomorrow." His hand slid away, and he staggered back out the door. Sam held back for a moment, looking at the large cross above the pulpit. He smiled. 

    "Thank You."

\-------

    "One thing I don't get," Al commented as he swept up pieces of stained glass, leaning on the broom for a moment, "is if you got to turn human again, why does Russell have to stay a werewolf? That doesn't seem very fair."

    "Maybe he was meant to be a werewolf," Sam shrugged, throwing another piece of a pew into a pile. He wiped away the sweat from his forehead. This was a lot harder to move around now that he was human. Not to mention, he felt every bruise on his body he'd sustained during the fight with Daisy. "Or maybe he finds a cure later."

    "I really hope so," Al said. The sound of rain pattering against the walls echoed through the church. He looked up and saw Vanessa sitting in one of the pews, staring at her hands sadly. He sighed guiltily. "Aw, Vanessa...I completely forgot about her."

    "Maybe that's why we're here," Sam said, looking in her general direction. Now that he was human again, he couldn't see her anymore. 

    "Ya think?"

    "It wouldn't hurt to try," Sam replied, nodding toward her encouragingly. 

    Al made his way over to the melancholy ghost, clearing his throat nervously. "Hey, Vanessa. How are you?" She shrugged noncommittally. He sighed. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have abandoned you if it wasn't a life or death situation."

    Vanessa took a moment to think. "You know, all I ever wanted was to be remembered? Just for something, I dunno what. Like...I was special, ya know?" She shrugged. "I never did anything important."

    "Sure you did," Al said, upbeat.

    "Like what?"

    "Uhhhh...you cut hair! Yeah, lots of people need a good haircut." 

    Vanessa was even more depressed now. She pouted, and Al rubbed the back of his neck.

\-------

    "Dr. Beckett!" 

    Sam's face lit up as Gooshie stepped in from the future. "Hey, Gooshie! Thanks for the heads up about Karen."

    "Hmm? Oh!" Gooshie grinned, "Glad I could be of service. Are you feeling like you're still, uh...?" He squinted at Sam nervously.

    Sam bit back a grin. "No, Gooshie. I don't think I'm a vampire anymore."

    Gooshie blew out a breath of relief. "Thank god! We were really worried at the Project! No offense, but...some of us thought you'd lost your marbles."

    "Luckily I have you here to set my head on straight," Sam replied knowingly. Gooshie beamed. "So, what's the news?"

    Gooshie consulted the handlink. "According to Ziggy, Danny Price turns out just fine. In fact, he joins the priesthood, and in a year he's off the streets and renting his own apartment. He starts a program that helps provide affordable apartments for homeless people, including Karen Davies."

    "That's great!" Sam exclaimed proudly.

    "We just can't figure out why you haven't leaped yet," Gooshie said in puzzlement, scratching his head. Sam grinned.

    "I think I know."

\-------

    "Okay look," said Al, kneeling next to Vanessa, "Plenty of people go through life without doing anything important. In fact, most people do. But that doesn't make _them_ unimportant."

    "I wish I could believe that," Vanessa said sadly. 

    "Father Gray?"

    Al heard the small voice and was surprised to see the boy he'd talked to at the park. Vanessa gasped, but he couldn't exactly ask her what the deal was with this kid here. "Oh, hey, kid. What're you doing here?"

    "He's with me," answered a woman with a long brown hair. She gave a wide smile and extended her hand to him, which he shook. "My name's Annie. Annie Tafani."

    Al had to fight to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head at the name. He chanced a look at Vanessa, who was watching with just as much surprise. 

    "I'm Peter's aunt," Annie explained, "We won't take up too much of your time, we just wanted to thank you for the advice you gave yesterday. I don't know everything you told him, but...it meant a lot to Peter."

    "Thanks," Peter said with a wide smile. 

    "No problemo, kid."

    "He's a good boy. I know his mother is proud of him." 

    Al took another look at Vanessa and tears were in her eyes. He smiled. "I'd say you're right."

    "I'll always love her," Peter said, nodding.

    "Good," Al said, ruffling his hair, "Keep that love in your heart, and she'll never leave you."

    Peter grinned, and Annie took him by the hand. "We have to go now, but...can we talk again sometime?"

    "Absolutely," Al answered, then he turned to Peter, "Stay out of trouble, kid."

    "I will." And with another smile, he and his aunt were gone. 

    Al turned to Vanessa, who clutched her heart proudly. "Peter..."

    "You know something, Vanessa?" Al said happily, "I don't think you'll ever be forgotten."

    For once, Vanessa was silent. She simply flashed him one of her brilliant smiles, and faded into a beam of light. 

    Sam stepped up beside Al, taking in the joyful look on his face. "Al?"

    "She moved on, Sam."

    "Errr...what are you two looking at?" inquired Gooshie, eyeing the location Vanessa used to be. He glanced at them warily. 

    "Hey Gooshie," Al asked, ignoring his question, "Can you tell me what happens with Peter Tafani?"

    "Um, sure," Gooshie replied, plonking onto the handlink. It whined at him, then spit out the information. "Hmm...Wow! This is strange. Apparently you changed history!"

    "Oh yeah?"

    "According to Ziggy, in the original timeline, Peter grew so depressed over the loss of his mother that he committed suicide when he was 15. But now, he's currently attending a state university on a football scholarship! Apparently he was given a new confidence because of something his priest said..."

    "Jeez louise," Al breathed, rubbing his head, "If Peter had listened to the real Father Gray, he'd be dead now. So much for miracles, huh, Sam?" He eyed a cross on the wall with disappointment. 

    "I don't know, Al," Sam said thoughtfully, "Maybe you were leaped in here because God, Time, Fate, or Whatever...knew that what Father Gray had to say wasn't the advice Peter needed to hear." He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe you were his angel, Al."

    "Oh, _Sam_..." Al groaned. 

    "God works in mysterious ways," Sam grinned.

    Hmph. Maybe, but Al would never cop to it. But...Someone had to've been looking out for them if they were still alive after all that. So maybe there was a meaning behind all this after all.

    "What about Russell?" he suddenly remembered to ask. Gooshie pushed the buttons on the handlink. "Are there any more 'animal attacks' around him?"

    "No, no animal attacks," Gooshie said, and Al breathed a sigh of relief, "And actually...he quits the priesthood, ends up marrying Annie Tafani, and raises Peter as his own child. And they have two more children together!" 

    "Looks like he got his happy ending after all, Al," Sam said cheerfully. 

    "Looks like it." Al grinned, then pointed at Sam sternly, "But listen, kid. Don't you ever pull anything like this leap on me again. I mean it. My heart can't take it, and I'm getting too old for this sh--"

    At that very moment, a bolt of lightning struck through the window and hit him, sending him once more through time and back to the Project. Sam got the idea anyway. Somehow, he wasn't surprised by this outcome. He looked at the cross again. "You've got a very good sense of timing." 

    As if GTFW was listening in, he was engulfed in blue light and sent to his next destination in history. He prayed the next leap didn't fall on Halloween.


End file.
